The Rose's Light
by Illa Darling
Summary: No one noticed the silent girl who lived on the streets of Paris and wandered alone in a dark world. But things change when someone begins to truly see her, and suddenly a candle begins to flame in the shadows of her life. But what if the Rose's light can no longer see any light himself in a world of death, despair and eternal darkness?
1. Into the Dark

**A/N: Yes! Here is my next story! Hopefully, it will be longer than the others… but no promises. Hmm, I'm running out of ideas for E/E, but then again, you can never run out of fanfics for those two. I just contradicted myself. Oh well, on with the story! Hope you enjoy! (I never get tired of saying that! :D)**

Chapter One

Eponine shivered.

This day was no different from the day before. The wind was still as cruel as ever, biting at her thin cheek and stiff fingers. The stones of the ground, wet from the harsh rain of yesterday, felt muddy beneath her bare feet. And the wealthy paid no attention to the poor, filthy beggar girl of the street; the poor passed her by without a single sympathetic nod.

But the girl did not seem to mind. She knew those people had no time for compassion. Had compassion ever played a part in her poor, miserable life? She knew the answer, as did everyone else. Compassion was dead in their minds. And so no one minded her as she walked quietly in the streets of wet Paris.

The rain that had poured down with a fury just the other day was now only a light shower. Eponine did not mind.

As she turned her eyes to the sky, she saw the sun sinking slowly down into its warm shelter. Yes, even the sun had no compassion for the world. When the evils of night arrived, it would run and hide, leaving all people in darkness.

Darkness was Eponine's only friend.

"Eponine!" came a low voice behind her.

"What! Is that you, little boy? What are you doing here?"

"I'm more of a man than you are, 'Ponine," replied the boy nonchalantly.

"But I'm not a man."

"Ah, but only men partake in the communion of stealing! It was once written, I recall, that thieves must be brave, and I'm sure as anything that women are anything but plucky."

"Enough!" said the girl sharply, her eyes flashing as she looked down at her brother. "Gavroche, what are you here for?"

The bright flicker in her eye, daunting and challenging him, changed the child's air of indifference into one of unwilling submission. "Well then! The old boy's been looking for you, if you must know."

"Old boy?"

"Thenardier, of course! They're all just big children with old faces! Bah!"

Paying no heed to the strange boy's reply, Eponine pressed his shoulder lightly, bending her head to his ear to whisper, "Take care!" The fierceness that had enveloped the atmosphere around her changed abruptly to concerned gentleness as she spoke those two words, and her hand rested on his shoulder for a moment longer.

And then she hurried off, disappearing into the crowds; and no one heard Gavroche, who, hands pushed into his pockets, stood watching her, muttering: "What a plucky one that is! Strange girl! And yet, she's my sister." Then he was off again, skipping and singing lustily without a single care in the world.

"Brujon! Babet! Where's the young thief at?"

"Montparnasse?" replied one of them carelessly. "Who knows when that one comes and goes? And who knows where he's at?"

Thenardier scowled. "I want none of your useless poetry! Brujon, come here, will ya? We can't wait for that pretty boy any longer! If he were here, I'd spit on his filthy, polished boots! Find Eponine! She's just as late as he is, and Montparnasse might be with her."

The man addressed looked up at the sky and started whistling the moment Thenardier's words stopped flowing.

"What are you waiting for?" said Thenardier heatedly, "A kick will do you good, dog! Get on! Get!"

In the darkness there came a shuffle, followed by a loud howl and the scuttling of boots.

"Poor Brujon," said a calm, menacing voice. "Only a kick? Or are you saving up for someone else?"

"Montparnasse! Is that you, boy?"

"What of him?" replied the voice and somewhere in the shadows a sinister smile seemed to float around the little innkeeper.

"I'm saving something for you, if you don't come into the light!" answered Thenardier, his voice rising. "I'll alter your pretty face! D'you hear? Montparnasse!"

His threat failed to frighten the young man in the dark. He was answered with a fearless laugh. "What of him?"

Footsteps approached. It was Brujon. "Here's the girl, then!"

Thenardier was still looking around in the darkness like a furious, fuming creature.

"Let him be, Montparnasse," said Eponine, walking past Brujon to her father, and the familiar spark in her eye lighted like fire in her eye.

"'Ponine!" came the delighted response. "Late, too! I might have thought so!"

The girl paid no attention to the young thief: "You called me?" said she, addressing her father with an air of bold indifference.

"What's your father up to now, 'Ponine?" interrupted Montparnasse. He had come forward now; it seemed no use to hide in threatening obscurity now Eponine was present. The glow of Babet's lantern cast shadowy fragments of light on Montparnasse's slim figure.

The young thief was watching with some curiosity Eponine's movement in the dark.

"What do you look at me like that for?" snapped the girl at Montparnasse, and turning to her father, "Will you tell me why I'm here, or shall I leave now?"

A hint of a scowl on his face, Thenardier barked: "Babet! Claquesous! Brujon! Hurry to that house I showed you this morning. Montparnasse, if you're thinking of lending your pathetic knives, get on with it!"

The men shuffled away quickly; only the youngest of them followed leisurely, the ghost of a smile haunting his red lips. "I'll see you there then, 'Ponine," said the calm voice, but the man was already gone.

Eponine was left with her father.

"Well? Am I to thieve for you again?"

"Don't talk to me like that, girl!" said Thenardier harshly, stepping forward with a beast's rage that could hardly be contained in his bright eyes. "Who keeps your little sister from starving? You feed your mother and sister when you help me and don't forget it!"

Eponine looked him in the eye, answering steadily, "I won't forget it. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't." The bitterness turned to resolution, "But I'm not helping you and your dirty work any longer."

Thenardier turned pale, his eyes blazing and lips trembling. "You help me or I'll give you a beating you won't forget, and your little rascal of a brother, Gavroche or whatever it is, won't be forgotten either!" screamed the man, shaking in his passion. "You've kept this up for too long, girl! The next time you see your brother, you won't even know it was him, if you don't! I've had enough of this, 'No, I won't help you.' No this and no that! The next time I hear that, it'll be—"

"Stop," said Eponine quietly. She could still feel the bruises of the previous day, but the pain wasn't what finally broke her determination. It was the mention of a name, that precious, proud little name.

"Well?" replied her father, his pale fists still shaking slightly.

"Where is the house?"

Thenardier smiled a hideous, beastly smile. "Well, then. It seems you've finally come to reason."

**Credits to JB for some editing and advice! **


	2. The Attack

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews and I'm so pleased to be back! :D**

Chapter Two

Enjolras sat down, his eyes wandering restlessly around the room. There was a stack of papers, waiting impatiently to be read beside his plate and empty mug. The bread in front of him looked unappetizing, but then again, he wasn't feeling very hungry. He seldom ate.

As the sky outside grew dark, his mind continued to wander over questions that seemed like great obtruding boulders; he searched tirelessly for answers in the quiet corners. Why? He was waiting for the perfect time to strike, silent and quick. He had been waiting for several months now. When was that Time to come?

Something moved outside.

Enjolras looked at the small clock on the mantelpiece, its ticking like the slow, condemning boom of a cannon . It was nearly midnight. The young man was suddenly aware of a pounding ache in his head and his eyes began to droop. He stood up, sighing, and left the room. The papers, with dashes and blots here and there, lay scattered on the table. The food had not been touched.

"Is he gone?" said a low voice out in the cold night.

"Yes," was the reply, "I heard him going upstairs. Did you hear it?"

"Oh! Get on with it, you fools! Can't you see the light is off!" said another impatiently. It was Montparnasse.

"Well! You go in first, then, if you're in such a hurry!"

"What!" retorted the young man, "And who will watch outside?"

"Very well," said Babet, "Claquesous and I will go in, and you little cowards can wait out here. If something goes wrong, just give the call."

"But I can't fit inside that window! Wait!" said one of the men. "Eponine's here!"

"Took you long enough, 'Ponine."

"Hush! Eponine, you go inside first and unlock the door. You're smaller than us and you'll fit in that window; and besides, if you get caught, I doubt the young gentleman would lay a hand on you!"

The girl nodded her assent and began climbing up the wall. All the while, a painful expression of reluctance and indecision played on her mournful features. How she hated herself! And yet, what could she do?

She landed softly on the ground on the other side of the gate. She was in a garden.

"There she goes! Quick and quiet as a mouse, isn't she?" said Babet in a whisper, while Montparnasse looked on, murmuring, "What a precious girl that one is!"

Eponine entered through the small, open window. The house was still and she could see a loaf of untouched bread on the table. None of that! She knew what she had to do. With the silent agility of an experienced thief, the young girl crept to the front door. Her hand reached up to the latch and stopped there.

Could she do it? Two months—she'd stopped for two months, and now here, faced with the painful decision of two wrongs, she couldn't bring it upon herself to lift the latch. It was wrong—she knew it! But oh! Poor Gavroche! Perhaps… no, she would defend her brother with all the strength and courage she had left, but she would not damn herself by committing this—this petty act!

She retreated from the door, but Eponine—that agile, silent creature of the night—did not see the little clock on the mantelpiece. It fell. A loud crash reverberated in the entire house, sending every member of the Patron-Minette flying.

Eponine stood motionless, every limb numb with shock.

The sound of footsteps hurrying down the stairs reached her hearing, and yet, she did not move. She could not.

Light blinded her for a moment and shadows spun around her. It was like the light of the sun, betraying her to the laughter of men, the jeering, and finally, the guilt she held for herself deep inside. This light blinded her.

And then she could see him. It was a young man, tall with handsome features and dark blue eyes staring at her in bewilderment.

There was a pause, and then the young man saw the filthy chemise and torn rags, the thin arms and pale face of a beggar. Not a begger—a thief.

"You…" Enjolras' words came out in a whisper filled with both anger and astonishment. "You're a thief… you're intruding on my…" And then rage—the rage that comes when a person realizes he is being robbed—broke from the solemn young man.

"Get out!" he cried angrily, "Get out of here! Get out!"

The girl made no movement. She stood looking at him. "Call them," she said softly, and in the passion of his anger, he realized her voice was mournful. "Call them, Monsieur. I do not deserve to go free."

He stood in front of her, waiting for her to run, to dash towards the door. But she did not. Slowly, his anger seeped out and he was left breathless and confused. The fury that had blinded him was now gone; now he could see not the thief, but only the beggar. And something awoke in him that was dead in others.

He watched her in silence, and then his hand moved to the bread on the table. "Take it," he said quietly.

"Monsieur!" said the girl, amazed. "I will not!"

"Take it," he said again, but this time he also took some coins from his pocket.

"I cannot! Why are you doing this?"

"Here," replied Enjolras, his voice soft.

They stood there, motionless and silent. Finally she moved forward to take it—he did not recoil from her light touch. She looked at him, and there was misery and an overwhelming gratitude in her eyes.

"Thank you, Monsieur," she whispered. And then she was gone.

Enjolras remained standing near the open door. He had just seen the Purpose of his entire life fulfilled. The little thing that had stirred in his heart was now awake and a curious joy leapt with vibrant life inside him. He stood as if in a trance.


	3. The Light Becomes Brighter

**A/N: Hullo! Once again, I'm very grateful for the reviews! Oh, and Merry Christmas to all of you! I was uncertain whether to add Cosette to the story, but she had one purpose (foil for Eponine), and later on perhaps she might prove herself useful in this story. Oh well, we'll see! Enjoy! :D**

Chapter Three

Cosette awoke to a bright, cheerful morning, with the birds at her window singing joyfully of the sun's glorious splendor. It was a new day. A cool breeze swept into the room, caressing her rosy cheek; she pulled the warm blanket closer, and peace filled her heart. She felt warm and safe, and the joy of the birds outside seeped into her singing soul.

Oh! She felt like she could stretch her arms wide and love the entire world!

Someone knocked.

"Yes?" said Cosette, vibrant joy ringing in her voice.

"Cosette? May I come in?"

Jean Valjean entered the room. His face was old and his wrinkles spoke of difficult times, but those wrinkles would look so very happy and satisfied when his bright, twinkling eyes smiled down at her.

"Did you sleep well, child?"

"Oh yes. It is a beautiful day, papa."

"Yes. Yes, it is," replied Valjean, turning to the window with a smile. "A wonderful day! This reminds me, Cosette. We must go out on our walk earlier today."

"Why is that, Father?"

"Don't you remember? I invited that young man to have supper with us this evening."

"Oh, yes! I do remember now!" said the other with a thoughtful look. "What was his name again?"

"Enjolras, I believe. Monsieur Enjolras. I wanted to hear more of this revolution he is trying to start. The students at the university speak well of him, so I hear."

He left her then to ponder over his words. Who was this young man with radical ideas? It was worth wondering, and Cosette pondered over it as she put on one of her soft gowns and prepared to go down.

…

Enjolras stood on the side of the street as horses trotted in the mud, pulling heavy carriages along.

"Well! Did you tell the police?" Combeferre was saying, occupied with a large stack of papers. He was nailing them on the brick walls of the café.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I did not think it necessary."

A wind rushed through the streets, stealing one of the papers in Combeferre's hand. It fell quietly to the ground. "Necessary!" exclaimed the other, and his companion was uncertain whether the indignant tone was provoked by the muddy paper on the floor or his own failure to call the police. "You didn't think it was necessary!" repeated Combeferre in disbelief.

"Of course not," retorted Enjolras. "It was a perfectly normal thing to do."

"Enjolras, any man, fool or not, would know that it was certainly not a normal thing to do. Why, now the thief will be encouraged by your inaction and perhaps try to rob you again!"

"Didn't you hear what I said?" said the other irritably. "She didn't steal anything. When I heard the crash, I went down and she was standing by the door. But she didn't have anything at all!"

"So it was female, was it? A female thief! Enjolras, I never thought you to be the sort of man who would let injustice run its course when a woman was involved!" said Combeferre, laughing.

"It was not injustice," replied the young man, his temper rising steadily. "She did not steal anything!"

"She broke in."

"But nothing was taken and no one was harmed."

"The clock was harmed."

"The clock doesn't matter! What matters is that no one was hurt. I'm still here, aren't I? And besides, we work to help the poor, don't we?"

"Yes, but not to encourage thievery."

"So you're telling me that I should have called the police?"

Combeferre sighed. "Of course not! I was just wondering who the mam'selle was. At last something interesting has happened in your life!"

Enjolras laughed then, his annoyance subdued. "Well, Combeferre, patience! Something wonderful will happen to all our dreary lives soon enough!"

"By the way," said the other after a while, "Were you trying to defend the thief?"

"Of course I was. It was the right thing to do."

"Well, would you have defended another thief?"

"What do you mean, Combeferre?" asked Enjolras, turning to look at him.

"Say it was a man instead—a vile-looking man with rotting teeth. Would you have called the police if the thief wasn't a woman?"

For once, Enjolras could not provide a reply and Combeferre got his laugh at last.

The two men continued nailing the papers on the buildings, completely unconscious of the two people who stood watching at a distance.

"That one!" said Eponine.

"That one? You mean the taller one with dark hair and a face like an angel?"

"I never thought he looked like an angel."

"Well, 'Ponine," replied Gavroche with a laugh, "You don't pay attention to appearances very much, do you?"

"Hum! Well, I still don't think he looks like an angel, but that's him."

"The other man don't look like an angel at all," remarked her little brother, "How do you know which one I'm talking about if you think he doesn't look like an angel?"

An irritated sound came from the girl beside him. "Fine then!" she said irritably, as Gavroche laughed, "The angel! The beautiful, heavenly cherub, if you want!"

"Well! So he's the one who saved you."

"I didn't need any saving," said Eponine crossly.

"It looks to me like you owe him, 'Ponine."

"Of course not!" retorted the girl.

"Did he call the police?"

"No… but I didn't steal anything!"

There was reluctance in her voice despite the explanation. Gavroche simply looked up at her with a wily grin and then skipped away, still laughing.


	4. Meetings

Chapter Four

Night time was closing in and the creatures of the dark began to awaken, as if the moon's bright glow had taken the place of the sun's rightful duty.

There were only three men sitting in the lighted ABC café. The Les Amis de l'ABC had not yet been formed. These three men were like a little child who knew how to stand but had not learned to walk; they knew what they stood for, but knowing is a very different thing from doing.

One of the men was laughing loudly with a bottle in his hand. It was Grantaire.

"Be quiet!" said Enjolras. With his head resting on one hand and the other hand scratching away with a pen, the young man seemed unaware of the time that vanished swiftly with the monotonous ticking of the clock.

"Why?" replied the other, his voice rising even higher, even louder, with each scratch of pen. It rose, bringing Enjolras's temper along.

"Perhaps," said Combeferre soothingly in a calm voice, "Perhaps we should all get some rest. After all, it is getting dark out."

"What!" Enjolras looked up from hisc work, glancing out the window. It was true. Streaks of light were disappearing from the sky as dusk swept in. "What time is it?"

"A quarter to seven, I believe. Why?"

"I have an appointment!" The man pushed back his bench, stood up, and rushed to the door, putting on his coat hurriedly.

"Appointment? With a mademoiselle, perhaps?" cried Grantaire, still laughing. "So it seems you're just the same as the rest of us, Enjolras! You work, work, work all day! But who would have known it was just a façade?"

"I have no time for you!" said Enjolras. "Take care of the drunkard, Combeferre!"

Combeferre nodded solemnly, but as Enjolras disappeared into the street, a smile crossed the philosophic student's face, and with a nod to Grantaire, shook his blond head.

As for Enjolras, he was hurrying to Monsieur Fauchelevent's home on the Rue Plumet.

The darkness continued to weave its way into the earth, pushing itself into every little corner, attacking the pale light the way silence quiets headaching noise. But in this case, the darkness was unwelcome. At least, to the fearful citizens of France, it was unwelcome.

But as for the eldest Thenardier girl, she embraced the night with open arms. The hour had arrived when she could walk in the streets without facing the scorn of the rich. Now the cool darkness shadowed her face, concealing every emotion, every sin. She could now walk freely with no shame. No one could look at her and see the guilt she felt for her horrible life, because the night wrapped itself around her with comforting obscurity.

Gavroche had said his farewells and left her, as she continued to watch the man who saved her from prison.

This man she now followed, under cover of darkness, to the house on the Rue Plumet.

…

"Come in, Monsieur," said Valjean.

Enjolras entered, his figure disappearing in a haze of light that came from the inside, as Eponine, that silent shadow, remained in the darkness, unable to go in. How she longed to enter, to tell him how grateful she felt! If only she could go in! But the light which welcomed the young man warmly remained strange and cold to her.

The door closed.

"Cosette, this is Monsieur Enjolras. Monsieur, this is my daughter, Cosette."

Enjolras turned to the short, slender figure before him. She was smiling at him, her bright brown eyes beautiful and curious.

"Mademoiselle," said he.

"It is a pleasure to meet you!" replied the girl in a high, singing voice.

He looked back at her for a moment, and then turned to the father.

"I hear you are trying to…" the father turned and with Enjolras beside him, walked to the dining room, leaving Cosette to follow.

Cosette already knew much about this young man. It took only a day to find as much information as was possible. He was a handsome young student from a wealthy family, passionate about liberty and rights and all sorts of things that men were interested in those days and yet tried not to be. Certainly he was a gentleman; there could be no doubt about that, when he fought so fervently for the poor!

Now here he was in person. And everything she had learned about him became true in every possible sense. Thoughts, questions, began to push themselves into the young, pretty Cosette's mind.

Perhaps it was love at first sight. She did not know. The two men continued to talk, and she listened, smiling pleasantly and listening attentively. Inside she was thinking and talking to herself, just as when she had been a poor little beggar child in Madame Thenardier's home. She felt no emotions at all.

…

Eponine waited outside, hoping for him to come out. But he still hadn't come out and the night was closing in. She would have to thank him some other time. With this resolve in mind, Eponine left the Rue Plumet and wandered listlessly around Paris. It was evening, and the citizens were all inside, eating supper and preparing for sleep.

It was at this time that Eponine saw Monsieur Marius Pontmercy.

Eponine was in a state of misery. Here she was, alone in the moonlight, walking in the streets with no loved one waiting at the door, no mother and father to welcome her home, yes, not even a bright home with a warm fire to greet her. She was alone. This poor, miserable rose had lived with the reality for all her life, but seeing the light that had welcomed her savior and shut her out, the truth became even more pressing, even more painful. The darkness became perilous; the night, which had been like her shield, now felt treacherous.

She was alone in the sinister shadows, shunned from all that was loving, good, and bright.

And it was with these emotions that she saw Monsieur Marius Pontemercy.

The instant her eyes met his, she felt that she no longer needed to hide in the dark; he looked at her with gentle sympathy, and she looked back with hope. He smiled, and she no longer felt alone.


	5. Idle Dandies and Polite Radicals

Chapter Five

"Enjolras! How was your appointment?" cried Grantaire.

"Fine," replied the other as he entered the shop. "It went rather well. Monsieur Fauchelevent is an interesting man."

"Were there any ladies?"

"As a matter of fact, there was one. His daughter… nice girl, but a bit too curious."

"Curious?" pressed the drunkard; his mouth was shaped into an odd smile; his eyes stared, sober and gloomy, into Enjolras.

"Yes. I could feel her eyes looking at me and when I turn, she'd look away. Odd, really. But other than that, she seems to be a good, faithful little daughter—," he turned away and started, "Combeferre! Who's this you've brought?"

"Oh! You're here rather late, aren't you?" replied the addressed. Beside him sat another man, short, with a fine face and spectacles that reflected thoughtful brown eyes. "This is Joly! He was quite interested in my lecture and I thought I'd invite him over. Joly, this is Monsieur Enjolras. He is the most stubborn, passionate man I ever knew! Stubborn when it comes to women and his fiery will, and passionate when it comes to liberty, equality—the rights of man!"

The two men stood up. "Good morning!" said Joly. "I don't quite understand, I'm afraid," he continued, laughing, "Stubbornly in love with women or stubbornly an enemy of that deadly race?"

"Stubbornly an enemy," said Combeferre decidedly. "He hates the company of women, and whenever he sees one walking on the street, he turns and hides behind me! He especially dislikes the pretty, coy little ladies who look at him till he turns red as a tomato."

"No," replied Enjolras somberly. "In fact, I was in the company of one such woman just the other night. I do not hate them, my dear Combeferre. I simply leave them be, and they do likewise," he continued, "Those particular women you speak of are too curious, too flippant! They have no interest whatsoever of the work to which I have devoted my entire life! They eat, laugh and are merry; and no thought passes their mind that a poor beggar girl may be outside, hoping to catch some of the left-over's of their meal!"

Joly burst into a merry laugh once the speech was over. "O-ho! Watch out, my dear fellow! Those 'particular women' are the most dangerous predators out there! You know, Combeferre, you're quite right. Passionate about revolution; stubborn hater of the female race! Those two are quite entwined in Monsieur Enjolras's life."

"Well," said Enjolras, sighing, "so you found Combeferre's lecture interesting? What is your occupation, Monsieur?"

"I'm a student of medicine."

"Ah, I see. Will you walk with me?"

"Yes. Yes, of course!"

"Are you always this happy?"

"Why, yes. Yes, of course!"

The revolutionary student sighed.

"Enjolras is quite unsettled about this woman business!" said Combeferre, laughing. "What _did_ happen last night?"

"I had supper with a good gentleman and his daughter. Is there anything wrong in that? Can anyone have a friendly visit without having to shout out the news to all of Paris?"

"Of course not!" replied the other indignantly. "We're simply curious!"

"Curious!" said Enjolras disdainfully. "Curiosity is almost always involved with prying, and prying is the activity of good-for-nothing dandies who have nothing better to do! You know, you're just like those women!"

"Why, I won't forgive you for that!" answered Combeferre good-naturedly. "Come, Joly, I believe he was insulting you as well!"

"I'm sorry," said Enjolras stiffly, "If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about last night. That woman was too… like the others, and let's leave it at that!"

…

Eponine stood outside of the ABC café, waiting, waiting for her chance to pay her debt.

Marius passed by her. "Oh! Eponine! That is your name, right? You look rather solemn now. Why, I think I'll take you out for something to eat! Are you hungry?" The merry young man danced around her till she started to laugh.

He stopped dancing. "I really like that laugh, 'Ponine! Do you mind if I call you that? Of course you don't mind! Come on, let's go get some luncheon!"

"I'm sorry, Monsieur, but I'm waiting for someone."

Marius frowned. "I don't think anything—or, anyone, I should say—has the right to postpone a hungry belly! Come on!"

Eponine laughed again. "Well, I suppose I can go with you first," said the girl slowly; Pontmercy needed no more answer. He smiled pleasantly and gave her his hand, "Come on then!" And off they went.

How is it possible to feel so happy when just the other day you had been so utterly miserable? For Eponine, this question pressed upon her and filled her with such wonder. Perhaps the world was not so bad after all. Perhaps there was some good too. Monsieur Marius was a pleasant, kind young man who had pitied the poor girl the moment he clapped eyes on her. And pity was the same as compassion, wasn't it? So compassion existed after all.

…

An ill-tempered Enjolras left the ABC café that night. This revolution was not coming to anything, and besides, another argument had ensued between him and the other young men about women. It had started out as a friendly taunt, but with Enjolras, every small, even jokingly said, remark became a serious thesis for an argument.

They just didn't understand! He had no time for women, and Combeferre's suggestion that 'You should find a wife, soon; you haven't stopped aging, you know' was an insult to his work! How could he make them see?

As he walked out in the rain, he saw her. It was that girl, the one who had tried robbing him that fateful night. To his surprise, she started to walk towards him.

"Monsieur?"

"Yes?" answered Enjolras, somewhat bewildered.

"Monsieur, I want to thank you for… for what you did that night."

"It was nothing. I… anyone would have done the same thing."

"Why do you think that, Monsieur?"

"Well… well, it was the right thing to do!" replied the young man. He had found his voice at last. "Yes, it was the right thing to do! You are poor; you needed help. I would not turn you away!"

"Not everyone does the right thing."

"Well, they ought to try it! It would do the world good!" said Enjolras passionately. "Love, compassion, kindness—if people would only act upon these little things, this earth would not be as filthy as it is now! But we are an evil race! No matter! We will keep on doing these little things! Though it cannot acquit me of my faults, it does good! It is the right thing!"

"Monsieur, thank you."

"You need not call me that, mademoiselle. We are both equal citizens of France!"

"Then I am only Eponine," said the girl simply. "But what makes you think we are equal?"

"God made us equal," answered Enjolras without hesitation. "I see before me not the filth of the earth but a person with a soul, a young woman with a heart, a rightful citizen of this country!"

The girl looked up at him, and though her voice was bitter, her large brown eyes were filled with hope and gratitude: "Tell the world that. And make them believe you."

"Yes, I will. And I hope they listen!"

The girl thanked him again and went on her way. It was only then—as she disappeared from his sight—that Enjolras realized he had spoken with a woman without impatience, without anger, without annoyance. Instead the words that had poured forth from his mouth were words of passion and hope. This girl—Eponine—she represented his Purpose.

And the light of dawn burst fresh upon the world, shining with a soft, pale radiance; conquering the dark.


	6. The Light Is Threatened

**A/N: Ooh, so sorry for taking long to update! And another apology for having such a short chapter! Well, I'll try to make it up to you dear readers as soon as I can! Hope you enjoy this chapter! :D**

Chapter Six

A fresh cool wind swept through the streets after the showering rains of the day before; and the sun smiled cheerily from its perch on the clouds.

The Friends of the ABC café began to gather once more.

Marius Pontmercy was making his way to join the other students. Long had he seen this group of young men forming slowly, one by one. Long had he watched them sitting inside, talking to each other with glowing eyes and passionate hearts. He had yearned to sit on one of those wooden chairs and listen to their fervent speeches, yearned to find his own voice among such valiant men.

It was with delight, then, when Marius received a friendly invitation from one of the revolutionary members to come and 'observe'. The young Pontmercy hastened to the café; as he made his way through the streets, he saw the Thenardier daughter.

"Eponine!" called Marius.

She hurried eagerly to his side.

"How would you like to come with me to the ABC café? A man named Monsieur Enjolras will be speaking there, and I'm sure even you would enjoy listening. I hear he has a great talent in speeches! They say he can move even the hardest of hearts! Well? Would you like to come along?"

"To hear the revolutionary students?"

"Yes!"

"Why are you going there?"

"Well, I've been thinking of joining them. They fight for a valiant cause, but I think it would be too complicated to explain to you. And I've got to hurry! Well?" said Marius impatiently. "I've got to go! Never mind! I have to hurry!" And with that, the young man hastened to the ABC café, leaving the eldest Thenardier daughter behind.

…

Enjolras, studying with some eagerness the successful revolts in History, sat hunched over his bench. He heard the door of the ABC cafe open but did not bother to look up.

He expected it was Eponine who had entered, for the young Thenardier would often come and listen. Once, he had dared to ask her why she frequented this busy-and surely strange, to a woman-place, but all she would give as an explanation was to keep an eye on her little rascal of a brother, Gavroche.

However, Enjolras watched her more closely after that and saw that this strange girl actually listened to the revolutionaries' talk; there was a delight in her eye every time one of the young men stood up and began to speak excitedly, passion ablaze in his eyes. But what struck Enjolras the most was that he saw in her eye not only delight but hope. And every time Enjolras looked upon her and saw that hope, his spirits soared with the blue skies above. A never-ending strength would find its way into his bones and he felt ready to fight every National Guard in Paris who dared to try and quench that hope.

"Enjolras!" said Joly, nudging him suddenly. "Look!"

Enjolras looked up and saw Eponine sitting down on one of the chairs in the corner. This would have seemed completely normal, for Eponine, quiet as a thief in the night, always sat as far as she could from the group of young students. But he noticed that there was no hope or interest in her eye, that she was not even listening to any speech at all. Instead, there was adoration-a pure, shining adoration that could not be ignored. Following her gaze, Enjolras's eye fell upon a young man, a stranger. It was Marius Pontmercy. He knew this man; surely this was the man of whom Courfeyrac had so often spoken.

He looked back at the Thenardier girl. Eponine, still transfixed upon Monsieur Pontmercy, remained unconscious of his gaze. Enjolras looked and saw such great adoration in her entire being. And something like annoyance filled his heart. Who did this man think he was, distracting everyone from the Cause? Who was he to come inside and sweep poor Eponine Thenardier off her feet and make her forget all about the Friends of the ABC cafe?

This irritability increased when he saw Monsieur Pontmercy walk to Eponine's side and speak to her with such familiarity that it was obvious they were friends. When the young men went off to their own homes, Enjolras saw Eponine hurrying to Marius' side.


	7. More Misery

Chapter Seven

It was nightime once more and Eponine walked gaily in the streets. She used to wonder why Gavroche loved to do this, go here and there without a single care in the world. But now she knew. It was actually possible to forget all the troubles and sorrows of the world.

"Hello, 'Ponine! You're looking happy!" said Gavroche.

The girl laughed. "As happy as happiness can be!"

"Is it because of that man? That, oh! what was his name? Pontmercy, wasn't it?" The young boy began to smile the smile of a devil. "My sister's in love! Oh, this can't be good, can it? You really do love him; because really, 'Ponine, you'd have no other reason to be so happy."

"How cruel you are!" replied Eponine, still laughing, "I'd be happy to know you were safe and warm in a comfortable house. And I'd be happy to know that our father don't care about us a wit anymore. I'd also be happy if I could find a way to repay that Monsieur Enjolras. You see, I can be happy!"

"No doubt," replied the other. He began to skip merrily away, but a dark figure emerged from the shadows, its long arms grabbing the young boy by the shoulders. "Let me go!" cried the child, struggling against the firm hands.

Eponine started forward with a cry. "Let go of him!" said she, repeating the words of her brother.

The steel grasp did not relax. Instead, the figure began to laugh.

"Who are you!" cried Eponine.

"Why, don't you know? It's good ol' Montparnasse!" answered the figure, and so saying, he moved forward and the light of the moon shone full upon his face. He was smiling. "Hullo, 'Ponine!"

"Montparnasse!" said the girl, struggling to recover from her surprise. She knew too well the vulnerability of fear and astonishment. Then, with cool indifference, "What are you up to now?"

The young thief laughed as Gavroche thrashed about angrily. "Wandering alone, same as you. I heard you talking with Gavroche. Who's that new friend of yours, 'Ponine?"

Eponine looked up and saw interest flickering in Montparnasse's curious eye. She quickly suppressed the sudden alarm that threatened to betray her, managing to reply calmly: "Oh, a friend. I have other friends besides you, Montparnasse. But I suppose you didn't know that—you, who have always been alone."

"I have many friends—dangerous friends, and you know it!" answered the young man angrily. "What use are your friends against me? They wouldn't have a chance."

"Leave Gavroche alone!"

"I'm sorry but I can't do that, 'Ponine," said Montparnasse with mock sadness. "I've got my orders."

"Who ordered what?" said Gavroche, his little, fierce voice muffled under Montparnasse's hand.

Montparnasse just laughed, while Eponine stared at him in horror. She understood now.

"I did what he wanted!" cried the girl passionately. "I came, didn't I? I climbed the wall—you saw me! And I entered the house! I did what the villain wanted!"

"What a bad girl you are, calling your own father a villain! But don't try to hide the truth! You weren't going to steal, were you? Can you believe our surprise when that accursed clock shattered with a clash! Eponine Thenardier, one of the most dangerous thieves in Paris, actually made a clumsy mistake! But I didn't believe it for a second. I knew something was up. So I did some listening and watching until my suspicions were confirmed. That man we were robbing, Monsieur Enjolras, I heard him speaking to another. And what did I hear? '_She didn't steal anything_.' Those were the words. Ha! I knew it all along, 'Ponine! You're going soft!"

Anger was slowly bubbling inside Eponine's bursting heart. "Did you tell him?" said she, fear shaking her words.

Montparnasse laughed again. Gavroche's eyes lit up with understanding. Eponine had told him that she wouldn't steal ever again unless she was forced too. The young boy knew what was in store for him.

"'Parnasse! Did you tell him!" cried Eponine, wrath flaming in her eyes.

"No."

The words clamped down on Eponine's fear like a lid over a jar. She relaxed her tense shoulders, relieved.

"But that doesn't mean I won't."

"Don't you dare tell him!" said the girl fiercely. "Think of Gavroche! He doesn't deserve this! You know my father won't show mercy, even to his own son!"

"What do I care about the boy? He's annoyed me more than once."

"Yes! What do you care! I haven't done anything to offend you! Let him be!"

Montparnasse leaned against a brick wall behind him. It seemed as though he had been waiting for this. "Do something for me and I'll let the boy go without a word to his father."

At once suspicion aroused itself in the young girl. "What?"

The man smiled. "Well, that friend of yours, what was his name again?"

"Why?"

He laughed. "Oh, what fortune is this! Eponine Thenardier is frightened, is she? Have I plucked a tender string now?"

"What do you want, 'Parnasse!"

"Is he nice looking?"

"Well enough!"

"Is he rich?"

"No."

Montparnasse stopped speaking. He seemed deep in thought.

Eponine, too, was thinking. "You don't want to rob him."

He looked up and smiled. "No. I know more than you think, 'Ponine, and I know that this man isn't worth anything at all! His name is Pontmercy, isn't it? I haven't been idle these days."

"You want something from him, but I can't think what would make you so interested!"

"Yes! You can't think what makes me so interested because there's nothing to be interested in—because he's worthless, cowardly!"

"I never said that—"

"I can't understand! Why do you love him?" cried Montparnasse, throwing away all signs of calm as agitation rang in his voice, "I can't see it at all! He's poor, naught but an average citizen of France! He is nothing!"

At last Eponine understood. "He is good, gentle and kind—better than you, 'Parnasse. And that makes all the difference in the world."

"You stay away from him," spat the young thief furiously, "and little Gavroche will be safe from his father's unmerciful fists!"

"I will not!" said the girl boldly.

Montparnasse's slim frame was shaking now with anger. But anger too is vulnerable, and the man knew this. Eponine and Montparnasse, those two poor youths, knew very well how composure was strongest. "Very well," said the young man, forcing an indifferent smile, "Gavroche is coming with me."

The little boy struggled furiously, but Montparnasse grasped his shining knife in his hand and the resistance ceased.

Eponine watched helplessly as her brother disappeared into the darkness. She turned and looked around her. The light of the sun seemed to smile sadly, dimly at her, and yet it was still smiling, wasn't it? It wasn't over… not without a fight. She took a deep breath and it felt as though the sun's radiance had seeped into her bones, giving her strength and hope.

Eponine was about to go when she saw Marius hurrying towards her.

"Monsieur! Monsieur Marius, please! I need your help!"

The young man was now beside her, but his eyes were wandering wildly around him, as if searching for someone. "I saw her again, 'Ponine! That girl! You remember that old man and the girl who stood beside him yesterday? You saw them, didn't you? I saw her again, just now!" Marius sighed happily. "If only I could find her! Oh! Eponine, can't you find her for me! You know these streets better than anyone! Please? I'd do anything for you!"

She looked at him. He seemed so happy, so very happy, and the light in his eye made her heart miserable. But she had to go. She knew it. And Marius should be happy, shouldn't he? He should always be happy.

"Yes, Monsieur, I will do it."

"Thank you, 'Ponine!" cried Marius joyfully, and his face shined so radiantly that Eponine would have been happy. But the darkness around her was too great now, too horrible.

With a mournful nod, Eponine vanished into the shadows.


	8. Pride or a Promise

**Sorry for taking so long! This is a little late, I know, but Happy New Year everybody! :D Enjoy!**

Chapter Eight

"Do you know, Enjolras, that when you finally face death like all the good and bad men of this world, you're going to realize that you spent your entire life in this café?" said Combeferre, laughing.

"No," replied the other, "I will die happy."

"Oh?

"I shall die knowing that my years were not wasted at all. They were spent fighting for a just cause. But you, my friend," he continued, and there was an arrogant smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eye, "you will realize that your entire life was spent trying to find fault with me (which is, of course, a hopeless aspiration)."

Combeferre was thinking of a retort when the door suddenly burst open and a gust of wind swept through the room, upsetting the papers on the table.

"Eponine!" said Enjolras, standing up quickly; his smile vanished as he observed her and alarm spread across his features. It was indeed the girl, pale and trembling. A gasp came from behind Enjolras. Combeferre stood up, staring at the poor young Thenardier with wide eyes.

Eponine was ghastly to look upon. There was an ugly bruise near her right eye and another on her left cheek. One hand was clutching her chemise, and every time she inhaled her jaw tightened, as if it was painful to breathe.

Enjolras hurried to her side. "Eponine! What! Who did this to you! Wait, what am I saying? You need help! Combeferre! Call someone, anyone. Be quick man!"

Combeferre left swiftly without a word.

All the while Eponine was stammering and trying to interrupt Enjolras. "Wait! No! Please, it's not me! I'm fine! My… my brother… he needs help. Please! Please help him!"

"What? I don't understand," said Enjolras, bewildered.

"I tried to stop him! But I was too late! He had him already!"

"Too late? Who? Eponine, help me to understand! What about your brother?"

The dazed girl seemed only to hear the last word: "Yes! Yes, my brother! Help him! Please help him!"

She tried standing up from the seat Enjolras had led her to, but he stopped her. "No, Eponine, you need to be taken care of first. Then you can explain to me what the matter is. Come, sit down here."

"No! I'm fine! I've had worse. Please, he's so young! He hasn't had a beating for a long while, and Father was too harsh, too drunk… I tried to stop him but he started to beat me. He let me alone and took Gavroche away!" Tears fell quick down Eponine's cheek. "He's so young!" whispered she.

"Let me help you first," said Enjolras, and though his voice was stern, his eyes looked down at her with quiet entreaty.

"Please, Monsieur! Please!"

Enjolras sighed. He wished he could be the man he was among his fellow revolutionaries, stern and unyielding. But as he looked at her, he saw only the large brown eyes pleading with him, begging him.

Gavroche had the same eyes. Then realization struck. Gavroche, that irritating little fellow, the affection and pride of Les Amis, was perhaps in terrible danger. The young child represented Enjolras' revolution, and if he called for help, Enjolras would respond.

The door opened suddenly. Combeferre had returned; behind him was the young medical student, Joly.

"Ah, this is the patient, then?" said the young man cheerfully, entering the room. He began examining Eponine, asking her now and then, "Does this hurt?", and smiling encouragingly at her abashed expression. "Don't you worry, mademoiselle! You're in the hands of an expert now!" But even as he said this he poked her ribs too hard, releasing a reluctant whimper from Eponine.

Enjolras looked at her with concern.

"Ha, ha!" laughed Joly, his cheeks turning red, "That hurts, I see! Don't you worry, Enjolras, don't you worry! I'll take care of her!"

Eponine looked at Enjolras again, the same pleading expression in her eyes: "Please, Monsieur, please find my brother."

Gravely, the young man said quietly, "Joly, you better know what you're doing or I'll find you and…"—here Joly laughed and Combeferre burst into a spasm of suspicious coughing—"I will find him, Eponine," and with that, Enjolras left the ABC café.

…

Where was that little rascal of a boy? After seeing how Eponine had fared under the hands of her brutal father, Enjolras found it difficult to keep from thinking of the young Gavroche in the same condition. He hoped for the better.

Wandering around the streets, he realized how Combeferre's words had been partly true. Only the road leading to his home was familiar in his eyes; the rest of Paris seemed like a strange maze of busy streets and quiet little alleys. And so it was, this large city that managed to hold the grand houses of the rich and find a home for the beggars and thieves in the dark, dangerous parts of Paris.

Enjolras tried to recall Eponine's words: "… Father was too harsh…" So it was Eponine's father who caused all this trouble, was it? Enjolras' piercing eyes flashed angrily.

He had often wondered who this Monsieur Thenardier was, but how could he find him?

He was pondering over the next step when something knocked over him and he found himself on the ground.

"Mind where you're going!" said Enjolras angrily.

It was a young man with, no doubt, an occupied mind, who had fallen over him. "Oh my, I am so sorry, Monsieur!" He leaned down, offering his hand; as his eyes fell upon Enjolras' face, he gave a cry of delight, "Ah! Monsieur Enjolras! What a pleasure to see you again! I am so very sorry, Monsieur. I… I was not thinking! I mean, I was thinking… and that's why I didn't see you."

"Yes, yes," replied Enjolras impatiently. The young man happened to be Eponine's friend, Marius Pontmercy. "Well, goodbye! I'm in a hurry, you see!"

"Oh, of course," and Pontmercy stepped aside, smiling.

What was that fool of a man dreaming of anyway? For indeed, there was a pensive, dreamy look in his dark eyes, and a wistful air hung around him.

But Enjolras did not wish to linger in the company of such a man any longer. A fleeting thought passed his busy mind. How could Eponine adore such a man?

He was a distance away already when another thought crossed his mind. Marius Pontmercy might know where Eponine's father lived… Oh! He did not need the help of this strange man! And he took another step. But then—what of his promise to Eponine? He hesitated. But he could find his way on his own! And he took another step forward. But wasn't he wasting time? Surely the quickest way to save Gavroche was to seek the aid of this foolish yet friendly student? Besides, Marius Pontmercy was already part of the ABC café, and thus a fellow revolutionary.

And thus, Monsieur Enjolras of the ABC café, in all his glory and arrogance, turned around and asked for help from the man for whom he held the greatest contempt.

"Monsieur Enjolras! You've come back!" said Marius as Enjolras approached him.

"Yes, you see, I need to ask you something."

"Monsieur?" replied the other with a confused look.

"I need something from you."

"At your service, Monsieur!"

"How well do you know Eponine Thenardier?"

"Oh, very well, I'm sure!" answered Marius.

Enjolras cast a doubtful look at his companion's face. Was he aware of everything? "Well then! You know Eponine's father! And you know where he lives? Yes?"

"Yes, I do. Why, I live right next to them!"

"Can you take me there?"

"Of course, Monsieur! Come this way!"


	9. A Game of Chess

**Thank you so much for the reviews, dear readers! Enjoy!**

Chapter Nine

Eponine looked out the window of the ABC café. The sky was darkening, the clouds gathering. It was midday, and yet her searching eyes could not see any sun to raise her spirits. Oh! Where was Enjolras? Had he found Gavroche?

"Here we go!" said Joly cheerfully, placing a plate in front of her. The gloomy skies with their threatening rains did not seem to dampen his spirits. "Hungry?"

"What? Oh, yes, I suppose." She sighed, continuing her search of the heavens.

Joly smiled gently. "I'll bring in the food a little later then, eh?"

Eponine returned the smile. Joly's unfailing good mood did not affect his sensitivity for the feelings of others. "Thank you."

"Don't think of it," replied the other. He made his way back to the little kitchen, plate in hand, leaving Eponine to her thoughts.

But her time alone did not last very long.

Grantaire entered, his large frame drenched from the rain. He shook his limbs, yawning, and his eye looked very sleepy indeed. "Well!" said he, looking about him. "What a dreary place this! Say! Eponine! What are you doing here? And where's Enjolras?" He yawned again. Not waiting for an answer, he sat himself down on one of the benches. "What are you doing in such a dull place?"

"Waiting."

"Waiting? Well! Waiting for what?"

"A miracle."

"Ah yes," said Grantaire, seeing nothing strange in Eponine's countenance or her answer. "We're all waiting for a miracle," said he, and there was something mournful and painfully aware in his manner and speech, "But it never comes, does it?"

"I hope this one will," murmured Eponine.

"Hmm? Oh! And what sort of a miracle are you waiting for?"

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me what yours is."

"Well! You're a sneaky one, aren't you? Biding your time, were you?" continued the sleepy drunkard in a half-garbled voice, "Patient as a little mouse! Well, a fair deal that! I'll tell you yours and you'll tell me mine," said he, his eyelids falling ever so slowly, "…and then you can be the one to tell Enjolras while I tell that Pontmercy fellow, and there won't be any dreams to keep and any secrets to dream…"

Eponine reddened, and ignoring the fact that her companion was nearly in that deep sleep only drunkards can have, that sleep that the burst of a cannon cannot wake—ignoring all this, she said, "My dream's got nothing to do with Monsieur Marius!"

Her voice rang loud in the still room. "What? Oh!" said Grantaire, opening his eyes for a moment and looking round him. Then the eyes closed and he was dreaming.

Eponine was alone again.

But her time alone did not last very long.

Someone entered the room. It was Montparnasse.

Eponine stood up only to sit quickly down and hold her aching ribs, suppressing a cry. "What… what are you doing here?" she said in the middle of short breaths, for the pain hurt very much indeed. "Get—get out! Get out of here! I never want to see your pretty little face again!"

Montparnasse just smiled, taking the chair in front of her. "Hello, 'Ponine! So nice to see you again!"

…

The two men walked in silence, Enjolras looking at Marius intently. Pontmercy seemed happily distracted as he hurried along; his face shone, a dreamy light flickered in his eye, and he had the air of the most satisfied man in all the earth. Enjolras wondered how the young man beside him could actually focus on the direction in which he was headed.

"Are we close?"

"Nearly there," was Marius' reply. "I wonder. Will Eponine be there?"

It did not seem like a question—it had been said in such a preoccupied manner—and Enjolras happily offered no answer. Instead, he said, "How long have you known her?"

"Who?"

"Eponine."

"Oh. A while. I met her one night on my way home. Turned out she lived in the room beside mine. She looked hungry and cold. I got her something to eat, and we became friends, I suppose." His thoughts began to wander as he fell silent.

The sky darkened and a light shower fell over Paris.

Now, Enjolras was not fond of talking, especially in the presence of such a companion. Only those words which have purpose, which stir the heart into action—those were the words he favored. Polite conversation was foreign to him; silence, his friend; and yet, it now seemed so strange and uncomfortable.

He tried speaking. "Why? Are you looking for her?"

"Who? Eponine?"

"Yes."

"Ah, I'm rather hoping she'll be there. I need something from her."

This seemed strange enough, for what could the poor girl provide? "Oh?"

"Yes." He did not care to explain; it seemed a delicate matter. "But I do not think she will be there."

"Why not?"

"It is not Eponine's home, Monsieur." Marius seemed to have awakened from his distracted trance, and he blinked his eyes rapidly. "If you want to meet Thenardier, you must know something. He is her father, and yet, he hates her. No—that is too harsh. He does not hate her… He does not think of her at all! And when he does, it is during those times when his hands itch for something to strike."

Enjolras listened, appalled, and his eyes flashed.

"I know this," continued Marius, "because many times I see Eponine bruised and broken. I ask her why, and she says, 'I stayed at my father's house this night.' A very simple answer. I did not understand at first, but now I know." He shuddered. "I would not care to have such a father!"

"I would not care to have a father at all," murmured the other, but Marius could see that his companion was agitated.

"Does Eponine have a brother?" asked Enjolras, although he knew the answer.

"Why, yes! Gavroche is her brother. Didn't you know?" and then, with another shudder, "Such a tiny little lad! But Thenardier treats all his children in the same manner. Poor Gavroche!"

This was enough for Enjolras. His pace quickened, and Marius looked at him, astonished. "Why, Monsieur, you are in a hurry!"

"Yes."

Marius hurried along, trying with some difficulty to stay in step with Enjolras' tall frame. The light rains soon began pouring down with a vengeance and the skies thundered. There was now no trouble in keeping up.

…

"What are you doing here? Get out!"

"What did I do to deserve this treatment?" said Montparnasse, his large, beautiful eyes looking into hers with a child's innocence.

"You know what! Don't play games with me, 'Parnasse! Get to the point!"

"Don't rush me, my dear! Your opponent needs to consider his options!"

"Where's Gavroche?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

Eponine looked at him with fierceness in her bright eye. "You gave him to my father. If you don't know where he is, then you'd better find out or I'll—"

"You'll what?" interrupted Montparnasse, and there was a fire in his lazy eye as his whole being awoke with fiery life. "What will you do, Eponine? What _can_ you do? Poor! Helpless! Alone! What will you do?"

"I'll find help," said Eponine stubbornly.

Montparnasse laughed. "So you'll turn to friends? What friends? Friends are what got you into this mess in the first place!"

"Then they'll help me out of it!"

"Too risky," replied the young man, shaking his head. "Can't count on your knight, 'Ponine. What will your next move be then?"

"Enjolras would never break a promise!" said Eponine with ardent determination.

For once Montparnasse was thrown of balance. Eponine saw the flicker of surprise in his eye. "Enjolras?" Gaining his composure once more, he laughed, saying: "So you've got another knight, have you? Who's this one?"

And at once the poor girl wished she had remained silent.

"Well, well!" cried Montparnasse delightedly, "a worthy opponent, you are, Eponine! What men see in you I'll never understand, but you know how to get them! Tell me, who is this new lover?"

This was the last stroke, the final insult. The slumbering fire awoke with a wrath. But Eponine did not stand up, did not cry out with a flash in her eye and a terrible anger surging round her. This was what Montparnasse was waiting for, a moment of vulnerability in blind passion. Instead, she replied coolly, without a single sign of agitation or anxiety, "My knight, 'Parnasse, against your pawn."

Montparnasse trembled with anger and impatience. "Is that how you want to play then? You listen carefully, girl! Yes, I know where Gavroche is. Your lovers will never find him, not in a thousand years! I don't care a wit for the child. I might just do whatever I want with him,"—here Eponine betrayed emotion—"so listen! I'll give you the boy if you give me your word."

"On what?"

"You promise me that you'll never talk to that Marius Pontmercy again, as long as you live. One word! That is all! Give your beloved one more word, and then remain forever silent!"

"Why do you want this so much? What offense has he committed against you?"

"He is a thorn in my side," replied Montparnasse heatedly. "And I want it gone! Make your choice! Gavroche or him? Think carefully, 'Ponine. That brother's all you got."

So strange it was. That after all this deafening conflict—this arguing and shouting—the intensity of the room reached its peak when all screaming fell silent, all sounds hushed. The room was still. And yet such intensity! This was the climax of the game.

And what was Eponine thinking? Would she give up a good friend and the man she loved for her brother, her own flesh and blood? Gavroche, that little happy urchin—would she never see his smile again, or hear his teasing laughter? But what of Marius? What of his wonderful gentleness, his eternal kindness? She would gain one to lose the other. In the end, loyalty to helpless innocence won the struggle.

"Let me speak to him one more time," said Eponine quietly. Montparnasse leaned back with satisfaction on his cruel, beautiful face.

"One word."

"Montparnasse," said Eponine before he left, "Silence cannot destroy love."

"We'll see," was all he said, and then he was gone.

Eponine had gained her only pawn, but lost a beloved knight.


	10. Found in the Dark

**A bit short and dull chapter, I know. Hope you enjoy!**

Chapter Ten

"Well, Monsieur, we're here."

Enjolras stopped in front of a small, decrepit building. The windows were tightly shut, the old, faded curtains drawn. The young man stood still, unsure of his next move.

"Well?" said Marius expectantly. "What business do you have with Thenardier anyway?"

"Business," was the short and, to Marius, rather mysterious reply.

They entered; it was dark inside. As Enjolras' eyes grew accustomed to the blackness in front of him, he could discern a hallway with doors. "How many occupied rooms in this tenement?"

"Two," said Marius. Enjolras looked at him. "Me and my neighbors, the Thenardiers," he pointed to one of the doors at the end of the long hallway, "That one's theirs."

Slowly yet determinedly, Enjolras went up to the door and knocked.

From inside, a voice, unpleasantly harsh, barked, "Who's there?" It was Thenardier.

"Is your son there?"

"What?"

"Your son. Gavroche."

"What do you want with him?"

"Let me in and we'll talk," said Enjolras impatiently.

There was silence behind the door, and then hushed whispers. Thenardier was consulting his wife. Suddenly a quite different voice, lower and more vicious, hardly the voice of a woman, said, "Why should we let you in?"

"Why shouldn't you?"

"If you want to talk, then there's money involved. If it's got anything to do with the boy, you'll have to pay."

"Fine," replied Enjolras. The door opened and Enjolras saw that the voice was that of a woman's, and what a fierce woman! With bright orange hair that matched the fiery color in her eye, Thenardier's wife cast a large, fearsome shadow over her little husband.

Enjolras entered, Marius following rather timidly behind.

"Sit down, good Monsieur," said Thenardier, smiling a hideous smile. Marius remained standing, looking round searchingly for a familiar face.

Thenardier threw the money that Enjolras had given to his wife. The two pieces fell to the ground with a clink; Thenardier's wife fell forward and five greedy fingers closed over the money.

"Now," said Enjolras, "Where is Gavroche?"

"What do you want with him, Monsieur? You're a stranger. Would we hand over our child's whereabouts to a man we hardly know? Perhaps if you could earn our trust, but that would take much convincing…"

"What must I do to convince you?"

Thenardier shrugged his shoulders and made a little gesture with his hands. "Well, Monsieur, maybe if you showed how much you cared about the boy, what his welfare means to you."

"What does the child need?"

There was another slight wave of the hand, and then: "Clothes, shoes to cover his poor, bleeding feet, medicine, for whenever his cough comes. The brat—the dear little thing gets sick so often, Monsieur… he has no coat to cover his thin shoulders from the cold."

"I could not get all of this for you. Here, would this do?" and he held out two slips of paper.

"Oh, Monsieur, you are so kind!" replied the wretch, receiving the money and bowing to the ground with a smile full of cavities and gratitude. His eyes glinted. "But Monsieur, my daughter too—she is a good girl, such a good daughter, but she has nothing to keep her from the cruel winter, Monsieur—"

"Enough!" cried Marius impatiently, thinking that Enjolras hardly knew what insatiable creatures he was dealing with. But Pontmercy was well aware of what treachery the Thenardiers were capable of. An innocent Marius had once entered the Thenardier lair and left with empty pockets. He would not fall for the same trick again, or let a friend come to the same end.

"Enough! Tell us where Gavroche is and we'll leave without a word to the police. They're looking for you, Thenardier. They know you're involved with the Patron-Minette."

A scowl darkened Thenardier's face, but after a moment, he let out a harsh laugh. "Ha! Well! I don't have the boy. I don't know where he is. He! He! Gave the scoundrel to 'Parnasse. You'll have to check with him."

"Parnasse? Who's that? Where does he live?"

Thenardier shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows where that one goes! Like the shadows, he is! You'll be lucky to find him! Off you go, good gentlemen! And good luck to you!" And the little man succeeded in pushing the two young men out of the room.

Enjolras found himself staring in front of the shut door. He was standing once more in the dark hallway.

Marius was scowling, and muttering angrily, "What crooks! I should've known it! Doesn't make a difference that he's Eponine's father! She knows it herself!" He turned to Enjolras. "Well? What now? You're lucky to have me, you know. If I hadn't been with you, well! You'd see your hand going to your pocket more than once as if in a dream!"

"I knew it," said Enjolras simply.

Marius looked at him with a bewildered expression. "What?"

"I knew that Thenardier was trying to get at my money."

"What! Well! Then why didn't you…" he made a significant gesture with his fist.

"He is not like Eponine. But he is still her father. Who knows? Thenardier might find some kindness in that treacherous heart of his and get Eponine a new coat and Gavroche some shoes. Ha! But I don't think the little boy would accept the gift so gratefully, being barefoot almost his entire life!"

"Well!" said Marius, "You're a good man, Enjolras. Much better than myself! But too naïve. You know nothing of these poor wretches! I don't mean it to be an insult, Monsieur, begging your pardon. And I know you earnestly try to help these abased creatures. But I live with it every day, Enjolras," and there was a mournful look in Marius' eye, "and I see it every day. And my heart sickens as I wonder if these poor, miserable people can still be saved! Can you deliver them from this… this darkness?"

Enjolras did not answer.

"Well," said Marius, sighing, "What shall you do now?"

"Nothing."

It was not Enjolras who had spoken. The two young gentlemen turned with astonishment. "Who's there?"

A small figure appeared. It walked into the dim light. It was Gavroche.

"Gavroche! You're here!" cried Marius. The young child laughed and ran into his arms. Enjolras looked on with relief. But it was not Gavroche who had spoken either.

In the shadows around them, a voice—that which had spoken—seemed to be laughing in silence, if such a thing was possible. A foul air, almost evil and dark, lurked around them and then was gone, the same way wind passes through the trees and then departs.

"Who was that? _What_ was that?" said Marius, his wide eyes searching the shadows in vain.

"Montparnasse," replied Gavroche.

"Come," said Enjolras, just as solemn as the child. "Come. Your sister will be very anxious to see you."

The three left the crumbling tenement.


	11. A Joy That Means Despair

Chapter Eleven

Gavroche, who was walking in between Enjolras and Pontmercy, felt rather proud to be in the company of "those fine chaps". Enjolras, he adored. Marius… well, his sister loved this man, and besides, he too had a way with words… in a more romantic way at least.

So Gavroche walked with his head held high. His ruffled hair reached Enjolras' waist.

"Is Eponine truly worried about me?" asked the child.

As Marius was not fully aware of what had passed a few hours ago, Enjolras replied in the affirmative.

"Are you sure, Monsieur?" pressed the boy.

"Yes, quite sure. She hurried me off to find you without a single word or thought for _me._"

Gavroche laughed, looking up at Enjolras with a sly, peculiar gaze. "How like her! She can only think of one person at a time, really. But don't worry, Monsieur! 'Ponine told me she thinks you look like an angel."

An unreadable expression found its way to Enjolras' dark eyes and marble lips; it was something very close to being amused. "Oh?" was all he said.

"Yes," chirped the boy nonchalantly. "She called you a beautiful, heavenly cherub."

"Hmm." It was a very short, uninterested reply, but it was a sharp contrast to the lips that curved up ever so slightly and the eyes that now so obviously expressed amusement—and something else that young Gavroche, no matter how cunning he was, could not understand. 

Marius, who had remained silent and uninterested throughout the entire conversation, said suddenly, "Really, Gavroche, who was that fellow?"

"I told you already. Montparnasse."

"Who's that?"

"Well, he used to be Eponine's friend, and he helps Thenardier with his,"—he let out a childish giggle—"business."

Enjolras listened intently.

"So he's a thief!"

"Yes."

"But how does he know Eponine?"

"'Ponine needs to feed herself, Monsieur."

"Really, Eponine can't be a thief."

"Well, she is—she was, at least. That is, until she met you. And then she stopped thieving all together!" Gavroche laughed. "You're so good that she just had to be good too!"

Enjolras grimaced. So it was Marius who had influenced her, was it? Well! "When did you meet her, Marius?" said he suddenly.

"What? Oh! Let me see. Ah! Now I remember! It was two weeks ago. On the 18th of May, I believe."

Gavroche began chattering happily. He had one listener.

Enjolras' face pulled into a frown—he was thinking, thinking very deeply. And then ever so slowly, a bright glow, almost triumphant in a way, seemed to shine in his eyes. The 18th! That was two days _after_ Eponine Thenardier had trespassed into his house! So maybe it hadn't been Marius at all who'd influenced her! It could've been someone else. It could've been him!

For a moment, Enjolras' face shown with pride. But it lasted for that short moment, and then his pale cheek turned red as he realized he had tried winning an 'argument' over… over such a foolish little thing! How absurd! Enjolras threw himself into all consciousness.

Gavroche was still talking.

At last the three arrived at the back entrance of the café. Enjolras' searching gaze found Eponine sitting inside, looking miserably out the window. She was gazing at the sky, which was quite clear and blue now. The rains had passed.

Eponine sighed and dropped her gaze. And then she saw Gavroche.

An incredible change took place in Eponine's face. The mournful, wretched expression; the restlessly wandering eye; the mist of desperation and hopelessness that had surrounded her—all disappeared in a sudden burst of joy and bliss. It was as if there had been dark, thundering clouds over her face, and those clouds had suddenly been blown away by a joyful, welcome sight. It was as if the rains had passed.

She ran out to greet them, barely aware of the throbbing in her side. "Gavroche!" cried she, and the two fell into each other's arms. And Eponine wept. They were tears of joy, and she was not at all ashamed of them. For what did it matter? What use was it to contain her happiness inside such dreadful barricades as arrogance and audacity? Gavroche was safe.

"Hullo, 'Ponine!" said Gavroche cheerfully, "You look a mess!" The words were careless and indifferent, but his nonchalance was, in his strange, childlike mind, all the more meaningful and dear. "What happened to you?"

"It is nothing," said the girl, embracing her brother with a mother's tenderness. And then she stood up, ruffled Gavroche's hair, and looked up at the two men who had been her saviors. She was about to speak—there was a joy in her eyes that was about to pour forth from her lips—but she stopped suddenly.

Something dark seemed to have come between her and the two men, and there was a silent laughter in the air.

And Enjolras, who had such a quick eye, caught the expression of pain and despair in her entire being. She was looking at Marius with horrible grief in her eyes that Enjolras could not bear.

Eponine looked miserable and, in a curious way, defeated. She turned her eyes to Enjolras, and said, as happily, as gratefully as she could, "Thank you so much, Monsieur. Ask what you will and I will do it if I can. I am forever in your debt."

When she turned to Marius once more, she could not manage anymore gratitude. She knew she must choose her words wisely. And so she did: "Monsieur." That was all she said. No other words. And then her hand moved from the pocket of her skirt to Marius' hand.

He looked at it, bewildered. It was a paper.

And then she pressed Gavroche's hand and went silently back to the café, the miserable expression not gone from her face. Enjolras turned to his companion. Pontmercy was opening the folded paper. Something like elation, the same expression that Eponine had worn when she saw Gavroche, lighted his entire face. Enjolras looked at the clumsily scrawled handwriting.

It was an address.


	12. Shattered Glass

**Thanks so much for the reviews! I'm the happiest being alive, save for the fact that I have a horrible cold! Nasty things, those… Anyway, thag you very buch and hope you enjoy! :D **

Chapter Twelve

It was almost nighttime. The sky was darkening, but if one were to walk in the streets of Paris and go round the Café Musain, one would see bright candles lit inside the back room of the building, illuminating the café with a warm orange glow. This light fell upon shadows that moved across the room, playing on the features of youthful faces that belonged to the students of our Patria. One would hear solemn whispers and merry laughter, loud arguments and playful banter. The whispers were words of revolution; the laughter was the mask that covered them.

There was one man among these revolutionaries, one who laughed the loudest; and his mask was the greatest of all. His name was Grantaire.

"Enjolras!" cried the drunkard, "Where were you? I didn't see you this morning when I came over. You weren't here in the afternoon, either, because I was here the whole day! Eponine can say yea to that! She was here too!"

Enjolras shrugged impatiently. "I was here this morning. Early." He emphasized the last word and cast a significant glance at Grantaire.

"Really? Well! My morning is your afternoon, then!" He paused for a moment, and then with an interested glint in his sleepy eye, he addressed Eponine: "Hey, Eponine! Last I saw you, you were talking with some fellow. Who was that?"

Eponine had been sitting quietly in the farthest corner of the room, watching her little brother with devoted vigilance while listening to the witty talk and stirring speeches. In short, she had been enjoying herself. Now, she looked at her questioner with an uncomfortable expression.

Grantaire, with some triumph, saw that he had now the full attention of Enjolras. Encouraged, he continued, "Really, 'Ponine! Who was that man? Gave me a bad feeling, he did! Don't deny it! He was there—I saw him!"

"Oh?" the girl managed, affecting carelessness, "How? You were a dead man the moment you sat down."

"Ha! Ha! Did you hear that, Enjolras? Me, a dead man? Ha, ha!"

"Yes," continued Eponine, "Quite dead, but for the fact that dead men do not snore like that!" She had managed to ignore the question, and now, she fell silent in an attempt to be forgotten.

Enjolras glanced at her. The uneasiness was gone. She was once more only a shadow in the room.

He turned and began talking with Combeferre. But he would not forget.

All this while, Marius Pontmercy had been sitting quietly inside the café. Everything about him this night—the soft tapping of the foot, the crumpled pieces of paper at his feet that had been victims to his active fingers, the restless wandering of his eyes—all of these were signs of impatience. Sometimes, he would fall into a curious sort of slumber, in which his eyes were open and his body was sitting there in the cafe amongst the other men—but his heart and soul were elsewhere, walking about silently in the streets of Paris.

And then someone would laugh very loudly and he would stir from his sleep and begin once more to tear anything, a paper or napkin, with impatient fingers.

What was he waiting for? Nighttime. Why? Because then no one would care for his presence. Then he could go, his body and mind, to where his soul and heart were waiting. But Joly was constantly seeking his opinion, and Enjolras continually cast glances at all the bodies in the room, as if to keep count of who was present.

Marius Pontmercy had two loyalties. And so far, they had not clashed with each other.

Finally the hour arrived. There were only a few people besides Marius left in the room: Eponine, Gavroche, Grantaire, Enjolras and Combeferre.

"Gavroche!" called Eponine. The young boy was sitting in Combeferre's lap and playing cards with Grantaire, who would laugh loudly whenever he won and laugh even louder when he lost.

The child turned. "What is it, 'Ponine?"

"It's very late. You should be getting some sleep."

Gavroche snorted. "I'll sleep when it's time for me to sleep. And the time isn't now."

Eponine laughed. She knew the boy would not be swayed; and she knew not where he lived. "Very well then! But it's time _I_ went home."

"Where is home, exactly?" said Grantaire suddenly.

Eponine's merry smile disappeared and all talking ceased in the room. "Home," said she, and it was like a sigh, "Home." She did not say anything else, but the longing in her dark eyes spoke for her.

Then Combeferre spoke up: "Everyone will have a home when this ends! Just like in the fairy tales! And we all live happily ever after!"

Enjolras' gaze turned into one of unhappiness. "Not everyone, Combeferre," said he, and there was something haunting and dark in those words.

"Well," said Marius finally. "It's getting late. I should be going. Eponine!"

She turned to look at him.

"Can I ask something of you?"

She went with some reluctance to his side and he whispered something in her ear, only a few words. But those few words cast a gloomy look on her face. She nodded, said her farewells to everyone, and left with him.

Enjolras watched them go.

"I wonder what that lovesick puppy's up to," said Combeferre thoughtfully.

"Perhaps he's found that girl he's been talking about," suggested Grantaire with a silly smile.

Gavroche stared at the door thoughtfully. Enjolras remained silent.

…

Eponine felt as if she was in a dream—that is, not a dream, for dreams are happy, and not a nightmare, for those are surreal and dark… it was not imagination, and yet it certainly did not feel like reality.

She was leading Marius to the house on the Rue Plumet. She saw herself walking with a determined mind and a pierced heart. Marius was following behind her. She could feel his trembling hand on her arm, as if she was guiding an anxious, blind puppy. In her mind she felt that she was, indeed, leading a man who saw everything and nothing: everything that meant the world to him, and nothing of the girl whose entire world had his name on it.

Marius had asked her to come with him, to show him the house, to find Her. He knew where She lived—Eponine had given him the address—but he needed Eponine. He needed her to be there, for he could not bear to find the house himself; what if She was not there? It made sense to the dazed and transported Marius.

But it did not seem sensible at all to the agonized Eponine. "How happy he is!" thought she, and a sadness—such sadness!—passed over her face like a chilly winter.

Marius' face was aglow with joy. "Eponine!" cried he, "Oh! 'Ponine! T'was you who brought me here! You!" his voice dropped, "Is she there, Eponine? Do you see her? Oh! I cannot look! Is she there?"

Eponine did not speak, and even if she had no conscience, she could not. For the ache in her heart was already too painful, and it rose to her throat with the threat of tears.

Finally he looked. He saw Her. And his world was complete at the same time another world, only a breath away, was shattered.


	13. A Heroine

**This chapter is a teensy-weensy bit different from the musical… Hope you enjoy! :D**

Chapter Thirteen

It was morning. Laughter rang and boots struck the pavement as the Friends of the ABC began to gather. There was a buzz of chatter as a blur of pantaloons and waistcoats drew near and disappeared through the back door of the Café Musain.

It was quite a while afterwards that Marius Pontmercy, his face shining with new knowledge of love and beauty, approached the front door of the café. The world seemed so beautiful this day to the young man. The birds were chirping cheerfully, the sun beaming happily, and of the strangers who passed him by, Marius saw the gentle, laughing mothers and naughty children with ruddy cheeks and healthy bodies. He did not see the mothers with gaunt cheeks trying to hush their screaming babies. He saw old lovers with wrinkled laughter lines and contented smiles, and he saw young lovers with their arms linked together in the shape of a heart—love surrounded him in a suffocating mist of beauty. He did not see any young girl with a pale face and a longing in her eye. He only saw happiness.

In this state of bliss, Marius entered the café. He heard voices talking, laughing, and whispering in the back room.

"Really, 'Ponine," said one voice. It sounded like Joly. "You're a hero! Heroine, I mean. Pardon me, mademoiselle."

"Eponine the valiant savior!" cried a drunken voice, most likely Grantaire.

And then Eponine's embarrassed, protesting voice, "It is nothing! Stop talking of this nonsense! Gavroche! I told you not to say anything about this!"

"Oh, come on, 'Ponine," said a child's voice, "You really are a hero. And besides, they would have found out anyway. How would you hide your bruises?"

Eponine's voice began to protest again, but another interrupted, a voice that was very quiet and grave, "You did a very good thing, Eponine. There is no use trying to deny it. And it was the right thing to do, though I wish there was some way of preventing this." It was Enjolras.

Marius emerged from the hall. "Preventing what?" said he. Eponine was sitting on top of one of the tables, with Enjolras and Joly at her side. Grantaire was sitting in a corner with a bottle and a contented smile, and Combeferre was sitting close by with Gavroche. Marius absorbed the scene before letting out an astonished gasp as his eyes fell once more upon Eponine.

There was another fresh bruise on Eponine's cheek and purple marks on her cheek that resembled fingers. Marius was used to seeing Eponine bruised and broken, but it seemed as if this beating had been a fierce one.

"She was a lot worse before. But behold my brilliant work!" said Joly proudly.

Enjolras sighed. "Yes, you are rather skilled in healing."

"Of course," retorted Joly indignantly. "Those hours spent studying aren't wasted!"

Combeferre laughed. "No, indeed! You'll be a useful tool, Joly."

Marius was still standing with his eyes fixed upon Eponine. "What happened? Was it your father?"

Eponine did not answer, but her cheeks reddened and there was a burning flame in her eye. Neither Enjolras, who had a skill in reading emotions, nor Gavroche, who knew Eponine more than anyone, could tell if that spark was that of embarrassment or of pain, or perhaps of anger.

"Well," began Grantaire loudly, "Eponine is actually a secret hero, because last night, she rebelled against her father and saved a young woman and her father from being robbed! Gavroche was there."

Marius started. "Young woman and her father?" he whispered. "There was a scream…" he murmured, "And when I went out, you weren't there anymore… where were you?"

Eponine's cheeks reddened again and there was that fierce spark in her eye.

Enjolras sighed. "Let the girl be, Marius. She needs her rest."

Eponine looked up at him gratefully. "Thank you, Monsieur. But really, you did not have to bring me here."

"Bring you here?" asked Marius, confused.

"Eponine was outside from night to dawn, sitting near the building," piped up Gavroche, "Enjolras came early in the morning and saw her—she was in a really bad state, she was—and then he carried her inside. He was very insistent, and Eponine was protesting fiercely, but Enjolras had his way in the end."

Combeferre laughed. "Yes, the arrogant eagle against the proud sparrow!"

"I'm sure Enjolras is the eagle!" said Eponine, forgetting her embarrassment and laughing along.

"Of course," cried Joly. "I'm so sorry, my dear Enjolras, but you're the most arrogant man I ever knew."

"Really?" replied Enjolras uninterestedly, but at times he glanced at the laughing Eponine and a tiny, almost invisible smile played upon his lips.

Marius, who had fallen into another reverie, awoke with a start and then, after collecting himself, addressed Enjolras: "Monsieur, I have a letter for you." He held out a small piece of paper.

It read:

_My good sir,_

_Will you honor us with your presence this afternoon? I would very much like to hear more of what you are doing. Monsieur Pontmercy, whom I met yesterday, is involved with your work, isn't he? He will also be coming. There is no need to reply. The door will always be open._

_ Yours truly,_

_ Monsieur Fauchelevent_

"You're going?" said Enjolras.

"Why, yes. I met Cosette—I mean, Monsieur Fauchelevent's daughter one day and her father saw me and we talked."

"I don't believe I have any plans this afternoon…"

"Then you're going! Excellent!" cried Marius happily.

"Why does it matter to you if I'm going or not?"

Marius started and then, with a shrug of his shoulders, replied that four was much better than three. "…So no one will be left out, you see."

"Very well. I'll be there."

…

"Monsieur Enjolras," said Eponine, approaching him. Besides Grantaire, who was snoring, they were the only ones left in the room. "Why did you help me again?"

He looked up. "It is the same case as before," said he solemnly, "You needed help. And it was the right thing to do."

"How do you know what is right and what is wrong?"

"I have my conscience," said Enjolras, an amused expression on his face.

"Conscience," said Eponine quietly, thoughtfully.

"God."

"But I still don't understand. Why would it be good to help someone who can never change?"

"What is there to change, Eponine?"

"Myself," said she softly.

Enjolras put down the book he had been reading and looked at her intently. Something in his dark, piercing gaze seemed to be staring into her soul. "You," he said in a low voice, "Why did you save—what's her name?—that girl? You don't even know her! She has nothing to do with you! Why did you save her from your father?"

The sad thoughtfulness disappeared in a crooked smile. "It was the right thing to do." But the smile disappeared as quickly as it had come, and there was wistfulness in her eyes. "But," she said slowly, quietly, "I do know her."

Enjolras started and said nothing.

"I… I knew her. A long time ago. And… and I was very cruel to her. I was only little," she said quickly, "I did what I thought was right. My father treated her the same way. How was I to know it was wrong?"

"Is that the only reason you saved her?"

Eponine's face tightened and she did not answer. What did it matter that she had saved Cosette for Marius' sake? Enjolras did not need to know. Marius was no longer hers… he never had been.

**I really don't like this chapter. I'm sorry if it was a bit vague. In case it was difficult to understand, Gavroche only told the Friends that Eponine saved a young woman and her father. The fact that Marius was present during the attack was not revealed. … And Marius didn't know that Eponine was the one who saved him that night. *Sigh. I'm not fond of vague chapters at all. My apologies. **


	14. Not A Blind Light

Chapter Fourteen

"Aren't you going to get something to eat, mademoiselle?" said Enjolras.

The day was still very hot and he preferred the quiet back room of the café to the busy taverns or hostels which most of the young men frequented. Eponine was still sitting in a corner, quietly playing with her fingers.

She laughed. "Eat? Eat!" said she, and then fell silent.

"France should be at your service. But at the moment, she is asleep, so I shall do the helping. What would you like to have?"

Eponine looked up at him, bewildered. "I don't want charity, Monsieur," she protested, and there was a fierce look in her eyes. "I am not like my father."

"It is not charity, Eponine," answered Enjolras quietly. "It is kindness. Will you not let me do anything for you?"

This kindess was something very unknown to Eponine. She wanted it very much indeed, the same way she had longed to follow Enjolras into the light of Valjean's house that long ago night. This time, the door was open for her. But she felt naked and vulnerable in this kindness, this radiant compassion; being a creature born in the dark, she felt she could not enter.

"No, Monsieur, you can do nothing," said she sadly.

Enjolras sighed. It sounded like a disappointed sigh. "Very well. But let me ask you one more thing."

"What is it?"

"That man—the one Grantaire spoke of—who is he?" Again he noticed the tense, wary expression.

She stiffened and did not answer.

"Who is he, Eponine?"

She looked up angrily. "What is it to you?" she said fiercely, and her eyes, though carefully guarded, flashed. "Who are you? What are you? A rich young man with nothing better to do than sit in a café, talking all day long about the welfare of the world! But you sit in a café, not the world! You know nothing of my life!"

For a moment something like resentment played on Enjolras' features, but the expression was gone quickly and sadness took its place. He sighed. "You are right. It is not my business, and I see you cannot trust me. But do not think that I am blind. You may say I live in this café, but there are windows; and what I see I cannot shut out." He paused.

"I only want to help you, Eponine." He sighed again and stood up. "I should be going."

"Wait. Monsieur," said Eponine quickly.

Enjolras turned slightly, and Eponine could see the marble features that seemed to be cut from ice. His expression was cold and closed now, so very different from the warm smile and compassionate eyes.

"I am sorry."

He smiled, but his eyes were sad. "There is nothing to apologize for."

"Please, Monsieur. You have done so much for me. You do deserve my trust, and I did not mean what I said… I was just surprised. And angry… His name is Montparnasse."

Enjolras turned now and his eyes watched her intently.

"He is part of a group of men—the Patron-Minette… I am sure you know of them."

He nodded.

"They help my father sometimes, and sometimes," her voice became soft and mournful, "I helped him too. I thieved for him, Monsieur. It was with the Patron-Minette that I broke into your house. But I couldn't… I tried so very hard to stop. You see, Monsieur. I cannot change." She paused and looked at him sadly. "Are you disgusted with me now, Monsieur? Now that you know what my entire life has been?"

"It is a past life. What you will do today and tomorrow is a different matter. But go on."

"Yes, I was trying to rid myself of my history, but it is too late for me. I am followed everywhere. After I broke into your house, I stopped helping my father. But Montparnasse found me. He knew that I did not want to thieve anymore. He threatened to tell my father that I had deliberately failed to unlock the door of your house. He threatened to hurt Gavroche—"

"Why?" interrupted Enjolras quietly. "What does he want with you?"

"He won't let me be." Eponine colored. "We have known each other since I was very young. He took a fancy for me." There was disgust in her voice. She looked up at Enjolras with a desperate, almost pleading expression, "He is selfish, Monsieur! He will not let me be!"

"Selfish," murmured Enjolras. "So that is why you never talk to Marius anymore. He threatened to hurt Gavroche and made you promise never to speak with the man you love."

Eponine's forehead turned red. "How did you know that, Monsieur?" she asked, astonished.

"I am not blind, Eponine," was the soft reply.

"Yes, _you_ are not," said she bitterly.

"Is it painful?"

"What?"

"Being silent."

"Yes, but you cannot help me."

"Perhaps." Enjolras was still gazing at her, but it now seemed that though he was looking at her, he did not see her. He was thinking.

Suddenly the door opened and Gavroche came in. "Hello! Having a nice little chat, are we, my doves?" Eponine began to protest but the child continued as if he hadn't heard a thing, "I'd leave you but I have a special message for Enjolras."

Enjolras straightened and turned to the ragamuffin. "Tell me what it is and I'll give you something to eat."

Eponine smiled and Gavroche laughed. "Bribery is it?" said the boy. "Don't you worry, Monsieur. Combeferre already gave me some bread!" Then assuming an important air and a deep voice—as deep as was possible for a little child—he said: "Marius wanted me to tell you that you're going to be late for Monsieur What's-his-name's little afternoon party, and Marius wants you to hurry."

"I'd better go."

"Wait, Monsieur. Then you are not disgusted with my life? Monsieur Marius would be horrified… if only he could see…"

"I am not. This—your life—you… You are what I fight for." He laughed. "Well! Then all those sleepless nights in the café were for you. Farewell, mademoiselle." Their eyes met, and then he was gone.

"Well!" said Gavroche indignantly. "He forgot to say goodbye to me!"

Eponine laughed a very strange laugh… Gavroche looked up at her with curiosity. It was her laugh when she was happy. "You are so small that he can't see you!"

Gavroche smiled mischeviously. "And I suppose he sees you?"

"Yes. He sees me." And her voice lingered longingly over the words.

**All of your reviews have encouraged me so much! I am so glad! Thank you loads! **


	15. Their Souls

**Hello! First off, thanks a bunch for the reviews! Secondly, I'm really hoping that you aren't getting bored... I know the story's going on rather slowly, but I really wanted to write this chapter, no matter how slow it is. I can only anxiously hope that you enjoy! **

Chapter Fifteen

Enjolras stood behind the gate of the house on the Rue Plumet. He could see a beautiful garden, and beyond, the door of the house. This opened and Monsieur Fauchelevent came out with a smile of greeting.

"Welcome, Monsieur," said Cosette's father. "Monsieur Pontmercy is already here. He is with my daughter in the garden. Come in! Come in!"

The gate creaked open.

"They are over there," Fauchelevent continued. "It is too beautiful a day to be indoors! There is some shade under our fine trees. My daughter and I spend much time here amongst the flowers."

They had come to a shady area in the garden. Laughter filled the air. Marius and Cosette sat on a large quilt that had been thrown and stretched upon the green grass. A cool wind blew across Enjolras' face, and when he looked up, he could see the sun's shining light peeking out from the leaves of the tall oaks and olive trees. They looked like bright stars in the shadows of the green foliage.

As Enjolras looked around the beautiful garden, he caught sight of a shadow behind the bushes and flowers, behind the gate that protected the house on the Rue Plumet. It was Eponine.

She was not looking at him. Her eyes were watching Marius and Cosette, and she seemed to be listening intently to the sound of their laughter, a melodious laughter that mingled with the singing of the birds and the spring of water that trickled down cheerfully from the carved mouth of Cupid.

Enjolras followed her gaze. Cosette was laughing. A butterfly rested upon her white hand, but after a clumsy attempt from Marius to catch it, the little creature spread out its large, beautiful wings and flew up into the air. Marius' hand remained on Cosette's for a moment longer, and then he withdrew it with a pale, shining face and joyful eyes.

Enjolras noticed that Fauchelevent had seen nothing of this. The good old man had his back towards him, bending towards the rhododendron.

It was then that Enjolras realized that the lady who had entranced Marius Pontmercy, the lady responsible for Pontmercy's tardiness on his trips to the café, was none other than Monsieur Fauchelevent's daughter—the girl whom Eponine had saved. It now became clear why Eponine had prevented the attack on the Rue Plumet. Marius loved this woman, Cosette. And Eponine loved Marius.

What was Eponine doing now? She was still watching, still listening. There was a pained expression on her face. She watched—her eyes were mournful. She listened—and a tear glistened down her face.

The ache in her heart was unbearable.

Enjolras felt his own heart press agonizingly against his chest like a hard rock; he felt pain and a growing compassion for that little shadow; he felt a rising indignation for Marius' blindness. His soul wept for Eponine.

Why was she doing this? Why was she torturing herself?

Her eyes met his. She wiped the tear quickly from her cheek. A sudden feeling that Eponine did not want him to see her mourning her lost love impressed itself upon Enjolras and he looked away. When after a few minutes he stole a glance at the gate, the shadow had disappeared.

Monsieur Fauchelevent was questioning Marius; Cosette was listening with a half-intent, half-uninterested expression. She no longer glanced at the stern, handsome Enjolras; she only had eyes for Marius Pontmercy.

A revolutionary possesses a certain passion whenever the conversation is related with words such as freedom, equality, king or state. It is very similar to the passion a lover feels when he hears people talking of his beloved. Words pour forth like water from a fountain—but while the revolutionary's words are words of both fervor and reason, the lover's words are barely intelligible.

It is with this passion that Enjolras threw himself into a conversation with Monsieur Fauchelevent… although it also took much effort for him to do so.

…

Eponine watched the two lovers from behind the gate. What were they talking about? What do lovers talk about? She wondered if she could ever be like Cosette, with her fine dresses, golden hair, and pretty face. Surely then Marius would love her! She wondered what it would be like to be beautiful and rich and have a long string of admirers, and suddenly, as she dreamed, the face of Enjolras, stern and handsome, appeared out of nowhere. Then Eponine recoiled from her dreaming, ashamed. What kind of love would that be? How foolish! Marius would love her only because she was a wealthy, pretty lady?

Somehow, the picture of Enjolras' face in her mind had triggered shame. Eponine rebuked herself silently.

And then she began to wonder. Why did Marius love Cosette? Was it only because she was so very beautiful? Was it the same love Monsieur Enjolras had for his free France?

Eponine watched as Marius and Cosette talked and laughed. Cosette's laugh was very pretty. It was high and musical, full of silver. The two lovers laughed, and Eponine thought she could hear their very souls singing joyfully to each other. They loved each other. They did not love each others' beauty or each others' wealth. Marius loved Cosette. Cosette loved Marius. And that was all. Their souls sang.

All this Eponine could see as she listened intently to their laughter. And a shimmering tear fell quietly down her cheek.

Suddenly she became aware of the presence of two others. One was Fauchelevent. She knew him; she had seen him before. Who was the other? She tore her gaze from the lovers, and who did she see? She saw Monsieur Enjolras looking at her.

There was something very unusual about his appearance. There was a pained expression on his face, and as her eyes met his, she saw something strange that she had never seen in him before. She had seen it often in the eyes of mothers mourning their dead babies, of brothers grieving for their beautiful sisters, of young lovers crying for their beloved. She saw his soul weeping.

She did not know why. And she could not ponder over it, for her proud mind suddenly became aware of the tear sliding down her cheek. She wiped it quickly away and glanced at him once more. But he was no longer looking at her, and she could not see his eyes.

Something uncomfortable crept over her, and Eponine took the opportunity to run away.


	16. The Barricades Arise

**This is a bit different, but I hope you enjoy! :D And thanks a bunch for the reviews!**

Chapter Sixteen

"Enjolras, you're back!" cried Combeferre, smiling and standing at the door of the Café Musain. "How was your afternoon?"

"Fine, thank you."

"Were you able to tolerate Mademoiselle, ahem, Flippancy?"

"She was not flippant at all today, my dear Combeferre. She was very thoughtful looking."

"Oh?"

"Yes. In fact, I believe she was rather taken with Monsieur Pont-lover over there." He tilted his head towards the pale, dreamy Marius. "Had all eyes for him alone."

Combeferre laughed. "So is she Pontmercy's mysterious love?"

"Hmm, well, come on! Enough about lovers and afternoons! We have work to do! You know what tomorrow holds for us!"

Combeferre nodded solemnly and the two entered together, with Gavroche trailing behind.

Enjolras was greeted with merry laughter and lifted mugs. "Enjolras! How was your afternoon?" "Did you have to check your temper now and then?" "How's Mademoiselle Fauchelevent?" "Where's Marius? He didn't come in."

The men were in a very fine mood, looking upon their leader with sparkling eyes and dizzy heads. Other unintelligible words were mumbled or shouted, and the young students embraced each other and shook hands, as if they were celebrating their graduation day.

They were, in fact, celebrating the night that would be the last of their meetings in the Café Musain. After this, they would no longer be the Friends of the ABC. They would still be brothers, but instead of a mere brotherhood of students and drunkards and young workers, they would be brothers of the Revolution—in the eyes of the monarchy, seditious traitors that posed a small yet very much living threat to the King's reign. They would be crushed by the firm hand of the King's national guards and well-trained troops.

Such was the danger that the next day held for them. And yet, here they were, laughing and smiling in the night, waiting merrily for this momentous day. What were the reasons for such folly? One might say they were scared. Not scared—terrified! For even the stoutest of men trembles as he faces death. And these men, no matter how brave, no matter how valiant, were finally facing that moment, that split-second right before he finds himself standing in the middle of a battleground with men attacking him at all sides. One such example would be Monsieur Grantaire himself, whose entire life was a battleground, who faced the next morning the same way these young revolutionaries faced the day of the barricade!

And how did this poor skeptic spend his night? Drowning in the soothing anesthetic of alchohol. Such was this sad truth. And now, when Enjolras entered the room, he found before him a group of terrified men, covering up their fear in empty laughter.

"Listen!" cried Enjolras with stern eyes and impatience flaring in his entire countenance. He stood on one of the benches and addressed the young men, checking them in their merry, nonchalant laughter: "The time is come! Tomorrow we fight! Look at me and take heart! Tomorrow, when you are standing face to face with gunfire and cannon—remember these nights, remember my words, remember why you are here! If we die, we will die with victory!"

The men listened and hearts were stirred. Those who had been blissful and drunk now stood with red ears and shameful glances; and as they looked upon the brilliant figure of their revolutionary leader, they cast aside their bottles. One, however, dared to show his rising fear. "But Enjolras, will not the people come to our aid? Will we then die tomorrow?"

"The people must rise," said Enjolras. "But listen! Do not be content with that! What is our goal? What is our Purpose? Is it to let the people die for us? No! Our Purpose is to do everything in our power—even to the point of death—for these people! We fight for them! We are the candles lit in a dark world. And if we die, our lights will continue shining! The people will see us fight! And it will be a fight to remember! What will happen if we sit in this little corner of the Patria and talk of revolution? Someone once told me that my entire life was spent here, sitting in a café."

He smiled slightly at the memory; and then his eyes blazed once more and with fiery determination, he cried: "We will _fight_, and that alone is enough. What do we fight for?"

"France!"

"What will we die for?"

"France! Vive la Patrie! Liberte! Egalite! Fraternite!"

"One more day! One more day and the clouds will burst!"

The little room filled with a chorus of voices, passionate and loud. And light, the light of the bright candles, shone through the windows of the Café Musain, shining out into the growing dark of nighttime.

…

Where was Marius? He was in mourning.

He stood in a garden, desolate and grey, a garden that had been only a few hours ago heavenly and surreal. Light had only moments ago poured radiantly over these dull, silent trees; laughter now only echoed emptily in the trickle of the water that fell in little teardrops from the gray statue's mouth. Everything here had once been golden. Now it was grey.

Cosette was gone.

She had left only this afternoon. What had happened? No one knew. Fauchelevent's suspicions had finally been confirmed after Enjolras and Marius' visit to his house. How? No one knows. And surely, no one would care to know.

All that mattered was that Cosette was gone.

Something stirred now in Marius' heart, something that had long lived inside him but had been dormant.

Marius had two loyalties. Only recently, one loyalty had overcome the other. That was Cosette. But now Cosette was gone. What was there for him to do? Die, of course. But then, he also had another loyalty. Patria. What use was it to die a silent death, forgotten by all? No, something stirred in Marius that had once been a passion for his country. His mourning with tears was over. Now he would die. He would die for Cosette, because now _life_ meant nothing. And he would also die for his country, because his _death_ should mean something.

Now, he only had one loyalty. And that was Death.

And so, Marius ran to the Café Musain with a flame in his eye, a burning head, and a pale face. With all the passion and despair in his heart, he spoke these words: "My place is here. I fight with you." It was a cry that came straight from his soul.

…

The next day an uprising occurred during the funeral of General Lamarque, and the barricade had risen. The first spark was lit. The fight had begun.

Every man in the barricades was busy, except, of course, Grantaire, who had fallen asleep inside.

"Enjolras! There's a hole in our barricade!"

"Get more furniture! Tables, chairs, anything you can find! Make sure the wall is firm!" Under his breath, he murmured, "The national guards will hit hard." He jumped down from the fortification and hurried into the café to find furniture.

"Joly! Where's Grantaire! Did you find more chairs? Here, give that to me," taking a large red flag. As he turned, a young man knocked over him and the two went sprawling on the floor.

"Watch yourself, boy!" cried Enjolras.

The young man's cap fell off and a mop of long, dark tresses revealed themselves. The youth stood quickly and the thick locks fell to her shoulders. She gasped and made a desperate dash for the cap. Enjolras seized it and looked up.

It was Eponine.

"Eponine! What are you doing here? Get out! This is no place for a woman!" said Enjolras angrily, although he hadn't the slightest notion why.

Eponine looked back, unabashed and nowhere near intimidated. "What! Are you my mother? I've just as much right as any man! Isn't that what you said? Equality?" She shook her head and laughed. "I didn't know you clucked like a mother hen!"

"I don't cluck!" protested the man, his cheeks and forehead reddening. Was he being a protective mother hen?

"Ha! Ha! You're not just a fowl. You're a peacock! Well! Are you strutting round your barricade, Monsieur?"

"No," said Enjolras, regaining himself and attempting a stern face, "As a matter of fact, mademoiselle, I am helping to fix our barricade of freedom. And what, may I ask, _are_ you doing for your country?"

She laughed again. "I do for my country what my country does for me." She stepped forward and gave him a sudden kiss on the cheek. When she withdrew, her cap was once more in her hands. "Thank you very much!" She made a sweeping bow, "And now, Monsieur Enjolras, I take my leave."

"Wait!" he called, forcing strictness though his forehead was still redder than ever. "Please? Just get out of here when the shooting starts."

She smiled again, her eyes sparkling, and she was about to say something when a new voice reached her ears: "Enjolras! What's taking you so long?" It was Marius.

He walked in and looked at the two young men in front of him. And then he recognized Eponine. He hurried eagerly to her side and began to speak.

Enjolras quietly left the room, but not before a glance at Eponine's face. What he saw made his stomach twist, his soul cry, and his anger rise. Eponine was once more subject to the painful silence of being with her beloved.

…


	17. The Dark Storm and the Red Banner

Chapter Seventeen

Eponine was thinking.

She walked through the quiet streets, heading towards the house on the Rue Plumet. In her hand was a letter.

Far behind her was the wine shop and the barricade; grey clouds that had begun to gather above a flying red banner. How fiercesome and bold it looked, soaring triumphantly in the dark, thundering sky! It challenged the growing storm and the grey clouds continued to gather. Eponine shivered.

Why did she love Marius? She couldn't help but ask it now, in her mind, pondering over the question carefully and wishing for a simple answer. None came. Before she left the barricades, Enjolras had asked her that question. And she had no answer.

"_Eponine, may I ask you something?"_

_She laughed. "Since when did you have to ask for permission?" _

"_It might offend you."_

_She stopped smiling and a grave, thoughtful look, half-curious, cast itself upon her face. "Well," said she slowly, "I suppose so."_

_He too spoke slowly, hesitantly, "Why do you love him? Monsieur Pontmercy?" _

_Eponine looked flustered. "I… well, I… He's a good man, Monsieur!" _

"_Why, yes, of course. But there are many good men in this country, in this city. Why him?" _

"_That's not a fair question, Monsieur!" she protested. "When you love someone, you love him. That is all."_

_Enjolras laughed. "Perhaps you're right. I know very little about love, save my own love for a France where all men are free and equal. And you know why I love this Patria, don't you?"_

_Eponine nodded. "Monsieur Marius is… he fights for the country too, doesn't he? And he… I don't understand." Somehow she wanted to please Enjolras, to show him that she could reason as well as he could. _

"_Yes, but Eponine," and his voice dropped low and gentle, "his love has been given to someone else. I'm sorry. I don't want to say this." He muttered something under his breath, something about how "silly curiousity was" and "now you've done it!". _

"_Yes. I know. He doesn't love me," she replied mournfully. _

"_Well," said he, attempting a lighter tone, "there are many other Pontmercy's in France! Some worse than him!" _

_She laughed, but it was a sad, empty laugh. And again the question appeared in her head: "Why do I love Marius?" _

Her head ached. She wanted to stop thinking. But the thought kept appearing like a nightmare.

Marius was a good man, but he was also a blind man. Ever since he met Cosette, something had changed. Suddenly he had no time for anything else save to dream of Her, to think of Her, to see Her and no one else. Men in love are blind, aren't they? But Enjolras loved his Patria, didn't he? Was he blind? No. For some strange reason, his love for France only magnified the light in his eye. He was compassionate to the beggar in the street; many times had Eponine seen him bending down and dropping something into the old blind man's hand. In his own way, he mourned for the young girls who were forced to face a cruel life. He fought for his country! And he saw Her. Not Cosette. Her. Impatient and arrogant as he was, Enjolras had many times patiently explained something to her, took time to understand her, She who no one had ever spent the time to understand.

Why did she love Marius?

…

The letter had been delivered. Eponine made her way back to the barricade. The rain had finally poured from the grey clouds, and the thunder roared. She stopped suddenly. Was it thunder? Her heart jumped. There was lightning ahead. Her heart beat fast. Was it lightning?

For suddenly the thunder sounded like a cannon, and the lightning like the fire from a rifle.

She came to a stop and looked and saw something that froze her to the ground. She saw the Friends of the ABC fighting against a sea of redcoats. Fire and gunshots roared. The rain poured down furiously. Her searching eyes rested upon Enjolras. He was at the top of the barricade, untouched, vigor in his every limb and a fire in his eye. She thought she could see his passionate love for the Patria shining out of him and striking down his foes.

She saw that he was untouched.

Her limbs came to life again and she approached the wine shop. Her eyes began to search again. She was looking for Marius. There he was, looking as though a red handkerchief covered his head. And yet on he fought, and what she saw in his eye was his undying love for Cosette, this love that gave him renewed strength and reckless courage.

The National Guards closed in.

"Fall back or I blow the barricade!" someone was crying.

Suddenly Marius threw himself forward, a bucket of gunpowder in his hand and a torch in the other. He shouted something; his eyes were ablaze.

The rest Eponine remembered was a blur. She felt herself spring to life and rush towards him; her hand fell upon something cold; she pulled it to her chest; a loud crack; a cry that chilled the bone; a face with dark eyes… Marius… no, the face had changed… the face was cold, sculptured, unharmed…

…

The words of the National Guard stirred an anger in Enjolras' heart. _We will never give up!_ he thought. _Let the fight begin! _

The barricade was finished. He stood holding the red flag, waving the banner above his head. It was his sign of courage, of determination, of defiance. With this pole in his hand and the banner blazing out against the darkness, he was defying the King of France.

The fighting had begun. Man clashed upon man, one an enemy and the other an enemy too. One fought for his beliefs, the other for his duty. Both were charged with a determination to win the fight.

Enjolras looked around him, and what he saw gave him courage. None of his comrades had fallen. They all stood their ground with determined eyes and clenched jaws: Joly, with his round glasses wet with perspiration; Marius, with scars that were as red as his love for Cosette; Grantaire, with a bottle in one hand and a rifle in the other…

The National Guards were closing in.

Suddenly Marius stepped forward with a cry, "Fall back or I blow the barricade!" Enjolras, his heart bursting as a wild thought that Marius might actually have the fool's recklessness to do as he says and kill everyone—Combeferre, Joly, little Gavroche—passed through his mind, rushed forward to stop him.

But someone got there first.

Enjolras cried out, "Marius! Behind you!" But Marius turned too late. And someone, something else—a swift, silent shadow—was suddenly there in front of Marius, pulling the gun towards its chest and letting the bullet run through its thin body.

With horror Enjolras realized it was Eponine. He caught her as she fell, and Marius continued to hold the gunpowder and the flaming torch in his hand. The soldiers withdrew, and Grantaire cheered.

Enjolras gave the cold body to Marius and walked to the red flag. He looked at it and his eyes were blank and emotionless. He was a statue. And suddenly a thought passed his mind that the red banner that soared above his head was not the red of France but the red of its people's blood.

**Don't worry! It's not the end! I'm sorry; I couldn't help a little drama. :D**


	18. Love, Light, and Hope

Chapter Eighteen

Joly stared gloomily out the window. He could make out nothing save the outline of the barricades in the darkness of nighttime.

"It's so quiet," he murmured, "So dark and quiet."

"Strange, isn't it?" said Combeferre, going to his side. "For the first time peace isn't peace at all."

"The silence isn't natural," agreed Joly. "Where's Enjolras?"

Combeferre laughed sadly. "Still wandering outside. He won't talk to me. Not if it doesn't concern National Guards or guns." He shook his head. "I used to encourage him to fall in love, but now I'm beginning to wish I hadn't."

"Do you mean the girl?"

Combeferre nodded. He spoke quietly, "When someone like Enjolras loves, he loves passionately. When he cares for someone, he cares genuinely. He feels deeply about everything. I should have known better. I should have been more serious."

"We all should've been. This is no time to fall in love," muttered Joly. "I better check on her."

"Has she woken up?"

"No."

"_Will_ she wake up?"

"Let's hope she does. But for now, she's in that strange state called sleeping, and it isn't a pleasant sleep for sure. She's been murmuring and muttering all night. Sleep well, Combeferre."

Combeferre smiled. "I sleep well when the night is peaceful."

"Then you should have no trouble now."

Joly left Combeferre shaking his head and smiling.

…

Joly bent down over the girl. She was murmuring indistinct phrases and tossing about with agitation. The medical student held his candle closer to her face.

Eponine was not having a pleasant night. She was dreaming, but it was not a beautiful dream. It was not a happy dream or simply the sort of dream where nothing feels real at all. This was a painful dream, a dream that felt so painfully real.

_"She was at the barricade. But it was not the same barricade with the triumphant red banner and the shining light. This one was dark and desolate, and there were unfamiliar faces around her, cold with shining eyes wide open. She shuddered. There was no wind, but she felt a sudden chill. She thought herself in another barricade and turned to leave. But then she saw the wineshop, and a dread and terror filled her heart. She looked around her, and suddenly she knew those unfamiliar faces… she saw Grantaire lying there, an insensible rock in the same position he had been those many nights and mornings in the Café Musain. She saw Combeferre. She saw Feuilly. She saw Courfeyrac. She saw Gavroche. Tears began to flow and her throat began to ache terribly. Her heart felt like a stone. She rushed to Gavroche's side. His little body was still and cold. She pressed him to her heart; he did not stir. She looked around again. Another chill passed over her and her eyes searched frantically for a face that she hoped would not be among these grim, marble faces. But he was. There he lay, under the red flag, his hand still clenched upon the banner's pole. His eyes were open and an empty darkness filled them. There was no light in the eye. She gazed upon him with a sort of stricken shock. He gazed back, unfeeling. And then darkness began to surround her, overwhelming darkness. She stretched her hand towards his face, but the face disappeared, and a sudden light, a blazing, scorching light, filled her vision."_

"Enjolras!" cried the girl, one hand shielding her eyes and the other reaching out searchingly in the empty air.

A startled Joly jumped and gave a little yelp. "Oh dear! Oh, dear oh dear! She's… she's…" Finally the young man came to his senses and cried out, "Enjolras! Enjolras! Combeferre! She's awake! The young mam'selle is awake!"

Enjolras and Combeferre burst into the room. "Where is she?" demanded Enjolras. He hurried to her side.

Eponine did not see him. She could only see a very blinding light amidst the darkness. She cried out his name again. "Enjolras!"

"I am here," said he in the calmest voice he could manage.

"Where is Gavroche? Enjolras! Where's Gavroche!"

"He is safe," came the answer, then in a low voice, "Combeferre, please. Find the boy! Eponine, can you see me? Gavroche is safe!"

These last words seemed to produce an effect on Eponine. Her frantic hands stopped searching and she lay still. Her eyes closed and she let out a sigh. "He is safe. And you are safe?"

"Yes, we are all safe." He added grudgingly, "Marius is safe too."

But she did not hear the last sentence. The first was enough, and she let out a sigh of satisfaction and fell into another sleep, less troubled than the last.

Enjolras watched her. "She'll be fine now, won't she?"

Joly caught the hope in his quiet, calm voice. "I believe so."

Suddenly another voice was heard to have said: "Pardon me for saying so, but does it matter?" Grantaire stood by the door of the wineshop, looking Enjolras steadily in the eye. He was sober and thoughtful.

"What do you mean, Grantaire?" said Joly, turning to look at the somber skeptic.

Grantaire laughed. It was an empty, melancholy laugh. "Does it matter?" he repeated, more to himself than to the others. "Why would it matter? The girl is fine. Good! She is fine now. She suffered a ball through the back, but she is fine now. And when you suffer a ball through the back, will you be fine? Yes! She survived. A miracle! And you will survive!" He pointed to Enjolras. "And you will survive!" He pointed to Joly. "And everyone in this barricade will survive! And I will survive." His voice dropped lower, quieter. It was the voice of one who suffers from an excess of despair and hopelessness. "It will take a miracle. So why does it matter? Fine! She lives! Will she live to see another day?"

"Yes!" said Enjolras harshly. "Yes! I will see to it! I'll bring her out of the barricade. She will live."

Grantaire's eyes flashed for the first time, and Joly watched, astonished. Here was the drunkard, the one who admired Enjolras so deeply—here he was, standing in front of his idol and laughing at his face. The drunkard was laughing, and it was a cold laugh. The frightening thing about this strange scene was that Grantaire was so painfully awake, so aware of everything, and especially aware of reality.

"You will take her out of the barricade?" said Grantaire, "Good! Will you return? Or will you abandon us?" He did not wait for an answer. He continued, his voice rising: "You will come back. That is fine, very fine! And when you come back, you will find the barricade on fire! You will see us dead! I can see it! But does it matter? No! We die for the people of France! Very good! And what will they do when we're dead? They will mourn. They will cry. They will shed tears for you, Enjolras! Tears for you! Because you will be dead too! Everyone will remember you, and if this girl survives, she will remember you and say, 'Ah, there is Monsieur Enjolras. He was a good man. He saved my life.' And that is all! Do you want tears, Enjolras? I don't want tears—"

"Good! You won't get any!" cried Enjolras in a thundering voice.

It was a terrible cry. Grantaire stopped short. And then a calm, sad look replaced his surprise. "Yes. I will not get any tears tonight, or tomorrow, or years from now." He stood still, frighteningly still and silent like the darkness. When he spoke his voice was tenderly gentle and subdued, "Good night, Enjolras."

"Wait," said the other, calling after him, "Grantaire." Grantaire stopped.

"What does it matter, Enjolras? Why is everything fine because she is fine?" murmured Grantaire, searching for hope—the hope that he so desperately craved—in Enjolras' eyes.

"It is hard to say." Enjolras looked up at the stars sparkling above him.

"I am not drunk. I can listen, and I will not easily forget."

Enjolras sighed. "I know that perhaps I will die tonight, or tomorrow. But somehow, knowing that she is safe puts my heart to rest. It is the same feeling I have when I know that I am fighting for a country that will soon be safe and peaceful, even when I'm gone."

"But I have no such feeling. What do I fight for, Monsieur?" asked Grantaire, and the question was like a soft moan.

Enjolras turned to look at him. "You fight for yourself, Grantaire," said he quietly. He saw Grantaire's confused look and explained: "You fight for the many others just like you. You fight for the hopeless. You fight for the hopeless by fighting for hope. But can you fight for hope? Can you hope, Grantaire?"

"What is there to hope for in this miserable world?"

"I cannot say much, but I can say this: there is good in this world. Not in ourselves, but we can find it."

"Where?"

"In God's love and light."

"Love and light," murmured Grantaire. "But all I see is darkness."

"Then look harder." Enjolras patted the miserable man's back and turned slowly towards the wineshop. "And Grantaire? There will be tears for you."

...

Combeferre hurried to the wineshop, panting. "Is Enjolras in?" said he quickly as he met Joly at the door.

The young medical student laughed. "Hasn't left the wineshop since you left! Well, except for that one time when Grantaire burst into an emotional little fit, and oh! That other time too, when I asked him to go and-"

"No time!" said Combeferre impatiently, and he hurried past the indignant doctor into the room.

Enjolras sat by Eponine's side, a thoughtful brooding look on his face. Suddenly the girl stirred and her eyes opened. "Enjolras?" she murmured.

"I am here."

She searched for his face. "Gavroche? Where is he?"

"He is coming," said he. "Joly said you must stay where you are. How are you?"

"Fine, Monsieur. But, but I need to go get Gavroche..." she began to stand up, but a pain shot through her back and she gasped sharply, falling back on the hard mattress.

"Please!" said Enjolras. Eponine saw that he was weary. "Please rest. You must try to stay still and get better. Gavroche is on his way, now. I am sure of it! I sent Combeferre to get him."

Reassured, Eponine looked at him with a smile. "Then he is safe."

"Rest," was all Enjolras said.

"Are _you_ resting, Monsieur?"

Enjolras returned her smile. "Go to sleep," he ordered sternly.

She closed her eyes and was about to obey him when suddenly Combeferre entered, an urgent look on his face.

"Enjolras!"

"What is it? Where's Gavroche?"

"Marius... he was going to get more... Gavroche overheard that we were running out—please hurry!"

Eponine started up, grasping her bandage and stifling a cry. "Gavroche! I need to—I have to go and get him—"

"No, no, no! Stay here," said Enjolras. "I will find him! I will find him," he said urgently, holding Eponine's hand comfortingly.

"You will take care of him?"

"I will take care of him."

"Enjolras, let's go!"

Enjolras grasped Eponine's hand and pressed it gently, a silent promise in his eye, and then his hand broke away from hers and he was gone, leaving a distraught Eponine behind. She waited in the dark room, and with tears in her eyes, she prayed for her two candles to return.

Yes! I finally got around to writing this chapter! I hope you enjoyed! :D


	19. Defying Death

**I'm not certain I like this chapter very much... I don't know why but it was difficult for me to write. Anyway, thanks for the reviews and hope you enjoy!**

Chapter Nineteen

"Gavroche!"

The boy refused to turn around, even though he knew they were looking at him, begging him to come back. But he was determined. He had to do this. The barricade would not survive without ammunition, and then Enjolras and Eponine and everything he loved would fall. He couldn't let that happen.

Besides, they wouldn't shoot him. He was just a child. What threat was he to the King? Gavroche smiled. Little people survive and become big people who die, and then more little people are born. They wouldn't shoot him. He was only a child.

"Gavroche, come back here!" cried Courfeyrac. "Please!"

It was too late now. He had to keep going. _They won't hurt me. I'm only a child. They won't hurt me. _The thought rang in his head. The child felt his heart tremble, but he must keep going, he must be brave.

A loud crack filled the air. Gavroche started. He felt nothing; with a bold, impish grin, he continued to search the pockets of the dead around him, floating in the dim gloom like a strange sort of bold fairy being.

Another crack.

"Gavroche!" screamed Combeferre. He started forward desperately but two steel arms held him back. "Let me go!" he cried. "Gavroche please!"

"Don't! You will be killed!" cried another man.

Gavroche tried to ignore them. He was doing this for them; didn't they realize? _They won't hurt me. I'm a little, harmless—_ another crack. It fell close to his feet. Gavroche trembled. His confidence was breaking.

All was silence. Suddenly someone leapt out of the safety of the barricade, crying, "Vive la France!" It was a chilling cry, breaking the silence like the hammer falling down upon the anvil. Everyone wondered who this reckless, bold man could be.

It was Marius.

Shots rang in the air. "No!" came a cry, and Enjolras sprang forward. "French Repulic!"

"Bring out the cannons!" cried the leader of the National Guards.

Enjolras grabbed Gavroche and shoved him into a little hole in the barricade: "Stay here! Think of Eponine! Stay hidden! Please, Gavroche!" And then he was gone again, trying to make his way to Marius.

"Enjolras!" cried Joly. "Cover him!"

Each side exchanged fire for fire. Smoke filled the air. The clouds that had been so slowly gathering together, gathering with a threatening rumble of thunder, gathering in a huge, grey storm of lightning, had finally erupted into a hurricane of chaos. The volcano erupts; the lightning cracks; the waves crash; and this storm burst over the barricade.

Amidst the roar of the cannon and the clashing of swords, Enjolras, his eyes blurred from the choking air, coughed and moved forward boldly.

"Marius!" he cried.

He saw him there, lying on the ground.

The young man moaned; Enjolras grabbed him by the arm and began pulling him towards the barricade. They were close; he could hear voices crying out:

"Enjolras! Enjolras, where are you?"

He coughed; the smoke filled his vision; a cannon fired and a blaze sparked over Enjolras. He shielded Marius with his body, and the last thing he saw was a large wooden piece of his beloved barricade crashing down over him.

…

"Enjolras!" cried Grantaire. He walked with searching eyes, oblivious to the chaos around him. The barricade was being torn apart; there was Joly, trying to lift a wounded man over his shoulder—he had dropped his sword, and he was unarmed; Combeferre was fighting near the red flag, the banner that was ripped and torn and faded; Courfeyrac stood with his feet planted firmly on the ground, locked in a death match with a young soldier just his age—and though his eyes flashed with determination and reckless courage, tears streamed down his cold cheek.

"Enjolras!"

Suddenly he saw something, right beneath the flag; it was Marius. He ran to the flag, bending down to tear away the rubble and wood of the barricade.

Just as he bent down a ball whizzed past him, barely missing his head. He did not see it.

"Marius! Marius, wake up!"

The young man was still alive; he gave a low moan. Save for a few cuts and bruises, he was unharmed.

"Marius!" said Grantaire. "Where is Enjolras?"

Marius's eyes opened but he did not answer.

"Enjolras! Where is he!" cried the other. He looked round desperately.

"He… he was here…" said Marius softly. A tear ran down his cheek. "He saved me. I am alive."

"Yes! Yes, you are alive!" said Grantaire impatiently. "Now where is he?"

"There." He pointed to a heavy, wooden structure not inches away that appeared to be part of a table. "He thrust me away… before, before it fell… over him…"

"No!" cried the drunkard, throwing himself forward and grabbing the wood with two shaking hands. He grunted; the slab moved. He cried out and the slab lifted, revealing an unconscious Enjolras.

Blood ran down his head, and he was lying on his stomach. Dust covered his face.

"Enjolras!" Grantaire grunted, pushing away the slab with the strength of a lion and then lifting his idol with the tenderness of a lamb. "Enjolras!" he said softly, and his eyes looked troubled. He turned. Marius was gone. "You will live! I will save you!" whispered Grantaire hoarsely and yet with fierce determination.

He crawled through the rubble, pulling Enjolras with him. Covered in the choking dust and smoke, they were invisible to the roar of the cannon and the fire of the guns.

One ball did not hit its target. And it saved two lives instead of one.

…

Gavroche was singing. His childlike voice was low and haunting as he wandered around in the bleak blackness of the barricade. A tear slipped quietly down his cheek; he did not see it, or else he would have wiped it away.

It was very dark; the time of night where the sky is still gloomy, waiting to become purple and then orange and then finally a beautiful morning with the sun shining upon it with warmth and happiness. But right now it was dark, terribly dark.

Gavroche sniffed. He realized he was crying and he rubbed his eyes with his sleeve. They were all gone. His friends. His family. Now he was alone.

No… not alone. He had not seen Eponine among the cold faces. Perhaps she was still alive. How he hoped she was alive! How his heart ached to see his sister smiling with the warmth of life!

The child hurried to the desolate wineshop. Was she there? He dared not hope. But without realizing it, he hoped, he hoped desperately. Something moved in the darkness. Was it her? No, it was only a rat. Did he hear a faint whisper? No, it was only the wind.

But there it was again. "Gavroche." It was a soft, terribly faint whisper.

"Eponine!" sniffed the boy.

"Gavroche! I am here."

His eyes searched painfully through the obscurity. He saw a face, her face. It was pale, but it was not white; the eyes were open, but not empty. She smiled.

"Gavroche! You are safe! Enjolras kept you safe!" she said.

"Yes! And you are safe too," began the child. "Why won't you stand up and hug me?"

"Here," said she, laying her hand upon her breast, "I am bleeding again, you see?"

"No!" Gavroche knelt down close to her. "Combeferre, he said you were fine!"

"I am not a doctor like Joly, Gavroche," said Eponine softly. "But…"

"Hush! Don't talk like that! You have to be strong! You have to live! Without you, I'd…"

Eponine had cast her eyes down, staring sadly at his small, dirty hands. Now she looked up, and her eyes were troubled. "Combeferre? And, and Joly…"

Gavroche sniffed again and tried fiercely to keep back tears. He did not answer but instead threw himself down next to her and buried his face in the folds of her long coat.

"Enjolras?" she whispered hoarsely, the troubled expression growing.

"I don't know," came the muffled response. "I didn't see him there… with the rest of them. He saved me and then told me to wait while he…" Gavroche sat up and fixed his solemn eyes upon Eponine. He used to tease her about love and Monsieur Marius, but now he spoke quietly, gravely, "…while he saved Monsieur Marius."

"He what?"

"Marius started the fight. And then Enjolras tried to bring him back." He sniffed fiercely. "Please, 'Ponine, you can't die!"

"I suppose I can't," murmured Eponine. She tried to keep calm, but her thoughts flew wildly. _I cannot leave Gavroche! He would be all alone, with no one to love him and tease him and… And what of Enjolras? I must find him! I cannot abandon him! Not while there's hope!" _

"Eponine?"

"Yes, Gavroche?" was the faint whisper.

"Are you going to leave me?"

"No. I am going to stay here and take care of you." It was a firm answer, shockingly firm, and once Gavroche heard it he felt his heart beat with hope. It was full of Eponine's determination and boldness. She was defying death. And Gavroche, that little imp of a boy, knew that Eponine never lost a fight.


	20. Life and Eternal Darkness

**Aahhh! Oh dear, now I've thrown the bomb. Please, please don't kill me! Please, please enjoy this chapter! *Gulp.**

Chapter Twenty

Etienne Gregoire stood in his dark blue coat, one hand on the hilt of his sword, the pale morning sun shining over him. Sweat poured down his forehead, although it was not hot. He shifted uncomfortably, wanting to turn away from the grey faces on the cold pavement. But he did not know where to look.

Horrible, empty eyes stared at him. They were dead; and yet Etienne felt as though he could hear their anguished cries, returned by the weeping of silent mothers and sisters. He shuddered. These men must have been only his age.

But he had done his duty; that was all. It was his job to follow orders. And yet, these men—these boys—were his brothers. He looked up from the faces and saw a tall, imposing figure approaching.

The man stood next to Etienne and his fellow soldier. He had stern, cold eyes, almost as unfeeling as the young revolutionaries lying on the floor before him.

"Who is he?" whispered Etienne to his companion.

"Inspector Javert," was the reply. The soldier shuddered: "You don't want to mess with that fellow. I heard he has a stare that could break you like ice, and some say he's the law made flesh."

Etienne glanced at the tall, formidable man.

"How many are they?" said the Inspector suddenly, his voice deep and cold.

"I, uh, I haven't—I mean… I'll count them right away, Monsieur," stammered Etienne. The Inspector turned to look at the young man with disapproval. He muttered something and then said louder:

"Well?"

Etienne turned to the grim faces with a shudder and began counting, walking slowly forward, "1… 2… 3…" Suddenly he started. Had he just seen... Yes! One man was breathing! His chest rose slightly and fell with a soft wheeze.

"Inspector! Monsieur Inspector, this one is alive!"

The Inspector glanced down at the survivor.

"Inspector," Etienne pressed, "What are your orders?"

"Kill him."

Etienne felt his entire body grow cold. Had he heard it right? But the Inspector had said it, two cold, pitiless words. "Monsieur?"

The Inspector looked at him sternly: "This man has defied our King. Are you to spare the life of a rebel?"

Etienne did not answer but instead stared at the fortunate man still breathing on the ground. He was not very fortunate after all.

"Well?" said the Inspector.

Etienne could feel the Inspector's cold eyes staring at him. He stepped forward towards the young man. His hand grasped the hilt of his sword and a tear fell down his cheek, dropping silently onto the cold pavement. He dared not wipe the tear, fearing that the Inspector was watching. But his throat ached and his heart pounded; his lips trembled and another tear fell. How could he kill this man, this young brother who lay before him, helpless? He lifted his sword.

"Wait," said the Inspector. "Put away your sword."

Etienne did so gladly. Perhaps the Inspector was not so heartless.

The Inspector looked at the revolutionary and smiled. It was a horrible, pitiless smile. "Do not kill him. Let him live. Let him suffer the guilt of seeing his companions dead. Let him suffer the consequences of defying France."

Etienne listened with horror. Had he really spared this poor man's life only to let him suffer guilt and pain and despair? Oh that he had killed him instead! Oh that this man had died to meet his friends in another life!

"Tend to him first and then bring him to the prison," the Inspector was saying. "He is under your charge now. What is your name?"

"Etienne Gregoire," whispered Etienne hoarsely.

"Well then, Monsieur Gregoire, take him!"

Etienne bent down to lift the man with the help of his fellow soldier, and as he carried the revolutionary away, he cursed himself for having spared this young man's life.

…

Enjolras was dreaming.

"_He was sitting inside the wineshop, sleeping. Suddenly he heard shouts outside. He ran out into the streets and began to wander around, searching for the voices that had cried out. Weeping reached his ears. He hurried onward and met women standing on the pavements. They were crying. He began asking them what was wrong, but they would not answer him. They only continued to weep, wringing their hands and crying out in pain. Wrinkled, aged faces and beautiful youthful faces wept alike; they did not see him. _

_He hurried onward, shuddering. Then he saw young men standing next to each other in a straight horizontal line. They were weeping. He realized they were his fellow revolutionaries: Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Lesgles, Grantaire… He hurried to Combeferre, trying to ask him what was wrong. But the other man would not answer. He turned to Courfeyrac, but the man seemed not to see him. He hurried to the other, but it was the same. They continued to weep, staring in front of them into the darkness. They were looking at something he could not see. And suddenly he realized what it was. Suddenly he saw the tips of guns stretching out from the darkness, pointing towards his companions like fingers denouncing them, condemning them. Then a loud crack! His companions fell to the ground. He cried out and fell to his knees, trying to wake them. But they did not open their eyes. He wept like the women he had seen; he wept as they had wept. Suddenly a blackness fell upon him and he cried out the names of his beloved brothers…"_

"Grantaire!"

Grantaire started and hurried to his side. "Enjolras! You are awake!"

"Grantaire!" said Enjolras again. His eyes were open but he could see nothing but darkness, the darkness in his dream. "Combeferre! My friends! My brothers!" Tears fell down his marble cheek. He felt a cold hand on his hot forehead. "Who is that!"

A familiar voice replied softly, "It is me."

"Grantaire! Where are you? Why is it so dark? Where are you?" he repeated, straining his eyes in the endless night. "And where are the others? Combeferre, and Courfeyrac, and… and Eponine?"

"They are dead, Enjolras."

"What!"

"I have not seen Eponine and Gavroche, but the others… they are dead."

"No! That cannot be! What has happened? Why is it so dark! Grantaire!"

The answer was soft, tenderly soft and mournful: "Enjolras. Enjolras, you are blind."


	21. Blind Statues Cannot Weep

**I know this chapter is a bit slow, but please, please bear with me! I think the 'bombing' went pretty well, though, and thank you so very much for staying with this story! :D **

Chapter Twenty-One

Grantaire was hiding in the Café Musain.

"You're blind," he had said.

Enjolras felt his whole body grow cold. His eyes searched out through the darkness, straining to find something, anything, in this empty blackness. But he could find nothing. Then he spoke quietly: "How?"

"At the barricades," came the soft voice, Grantaire's voice, "At the barricades you were trying to save Marius. There was fire and smoke, and we were all fighting. But I found you. The barricade was being destroyed, people were dying,"—he paused a moment, remembering the beloved friends who had died on that cursed night—"and the barricade was being destroyed. There was a lot of fire and wood… you fell…" he trailed off into silence.

Enjolras listened without any sign of emotion. He was sitting in a chair, something wrapped warmly over his shoulders, and his eyes did not blink; he seemed to be staring into an eternity that Grantaire could not see. Then he said, still every so quietly, "What of Combeferre and the rest?"

There was no reply at first, and then: "Dead."

"Dead," he repeated. Still there was no emotion. He neither showed emotion nor felt it at all. He was a statue, cold and unfeeling and empty. "Dead."

Grantaire began to weep. He had laughed many times in his youth and in the Café Musain, but now he was weeping. He was not drunk now and he felt an acute pain in his heart, a pain that he had not felt for a very long time. "Combeferre! And, and Lesgles! …Joly… they are all gone! And you…"

Enjolras did not seem to be listening.

"You're blind!" he cried out, as if he felt as though the wound was his own, "And now they are all gone!" He broke down weeping, weeping at Enjolras' feet, weeping for his lost brothers and his lost cause and his lost idol.

Enjolras remained seated, staring into the darkness. And suddenly he felt happy. He felt glad. He felt overjoyed that he was blind. For now he did not have to live in the world that Grantaire lived in. For while Grantaire had to suffer in a world of despair and death, where one could _see_ the dark, _he_ could sit in a chair, withdrawn from the entire world of suffering. And this he began to do, ever so slowly like a snail retreating into its shell; he began to wrap himself up in a protective cloak of darkness, so that no one could hurt him ever again, so that failure could not touch him. Now he felt protected. He felt safe. But now, he no longer smiled or comforted his grieving friend. How could he? The cloak did not allow anyone to communicate with him, and it also kept himself from his friends, from his loved ones, and from the world.

Suddenly someone knocked on the door.

Grantaire shuddered; Enjolras remained immobile. Grantaire went to the door and called hoarsely, "Who is it?"

"It's me! It's me Gavroche!" came a little voice behind the door. "Grantaire? Is that you?"

"Are you alone?"

"Yes."

The door opened. Little Gavroche entered, whistling softly and nodding towards Grantaire. "T'isn't wise to hide here," said the child solemnly.

"I didn't know where else to go," was the sullen reply. After all, the Café Musain had been the drunkard's home longer than he could remember.

"By morning the place will be searched." The young boy looked into Grantaire's eyes and then said quietly, "How are you?"

Grantaire's first reaction was surprise; he had not realized how deeply a little child can feel. But of course, after much pondering, the drunkard realized how similar he was to this infant, this Gavroche. The Café Musain was also, in a way, Gavroche's home; France was his mother, revolution his father, and the revolutionaries his brothers. A family that was now broken.

A child can feel deeply; so can a drunkard.

"How am I?" muttered Grantaire. "How am I? I am alive."

"Only just alive?"

"Yes. Surviving. How are you, little man?"

"Only just alive." Gavroche paused, looking round the lonely deserted room. His little heart ached as he looked at the empty chairs, as he saw the papers scattered on the floor and the candles no longer glowing as they had many a night. So silent! And so alone! It was then that his eyes fell upon the silent statue sitting, motionless, in the dark.

"Is that?" He looked at Grantaire, wonderingly.

"Yes."

The child moved forward in the dark room, an eager, hopeful expression on his face. Then hesitantly: "Enjolras?"

The man's eyes met the child's, and he nodded in silent greeting.

"Enjolras!" cried Gavroche happily, "You're alive! You're here! But… what is the matter?" He moved even closer, close enough to reach out and touch Enjolras' face—he longed to feel that marble cheek and find out if this thing was not an apparition. But he didn't dare do it; he was suddenly frightened of that cold stranger with Enjolras' face. It was not admiration or extreme reverence that held him back. It was fear.

"What is the matter, Monsieur?" whispered the child.

Grantaire spoke up: "He's blind. He cannot see you."

Gavroche looked at Grantaire, and then back to Enjolras, whispering, "Monsieur? Do you know me?"

"Yes," said Enjolras coldly.

"Then… what… what is the matter?"

"What is the matter?" replied Enjolras. "What's wrong? Nothing's wrong! Why should something be wrong?"

"Monsieur, you are not well."

"I am blind, but aside from that, I am well."

"Aren't you… grieving?"

"For who?"

Gavroche turned once more to Grantaire with a searching expression, as if to ask what was truly the matter. But Grantaire only shrugged and sighed.

"Monsieur, won't you come and see Eponine?"

"So she's alive then?" It did not seem like a question at all.

"Yes, and she wants to see you."

"Ah," said Enjolras, laughing coldly, "But I won't be able to see her!"

"But… wouldn't you like to come and… and hear her voice?"

He did not answer.

Suddenly someone said: "Enjolras." It was a new voice. Someone had entered the room silently, for the door had not been closed. Grantaire started; Gavroche turned to see the newcomer; Enjolras recognized the voice and began searching eagerly in the dark, only to catch himself angrily and turn away coldly, although with some reluctance.

It was Eponine.

"Enjolras!" said she again. She looked at him with a happy expression and started forward, ignoring the pain of her wound. "So you are alive!" She said no more but looked so relieved and joyful that Gavroche had an idiotic feeling to turn away.

Grantaire's face lighted with hope as he stared from the joyful girl to the wounded man.

"Well?" said Gavroche slightly irritably to Enjolras, "Aren't you going to greet my sister?"

Enjolras nodded to the wall.

Eponine was now close enough to reach out to Enjolras. She laid her hand on his. "Monsieur," she whispered. "Monsieur, I am so sorry."

Enjolras let out an abrupt laugh. "Why would you be sorry?"

Eponine looked at him with a confused expression. "Enjolras, your friends. They are dead."

"I am not blind," said he coldly. And then a silly thought occurred to him and he laughed again. "Well! But I am!"

"I am sorry, Monsieur!" said the girl earnestly. "But what is the matter? Why does he not talk to me?"

"Why? Well! Do you want me to say something? Very well!" cried Enjolras, standing up suddenly so that Eponine, who had clasped his hand despairingly, fell back with a start. "Then I shall! Combeferre is dead! Joly is dead! Courfeyrac, Lesgles… They are all dead! And I should be dead! And _you_," his eyes searched desperately for her, and Eponine thought she could see them flashing wrathfully, "You should be dead! Why aren't you DEAD! Why am I still alive?! I should be with them, lying cold on the floor while the National Guards patrol at my feet! Cold and dead! But I am alive! I am breathing! I am full of life! Can't you see? Look at this filthy cruel world! Why did I fight for this? Why would I fight for you, when I knew that I was giving up their lives? Oh, you pity me, don't you! You are so FULL of pity! But pity," he spat, "pity never helped anyone! You didn't love my brothers the way I do! You didn't love my revolution as I did! You _pity_ me!" His shoulders heaved violently and his pale lips trembled. And then he fell back in his chair, exhausted.

"Get out," he said quietly.

Eponine had listened, quiet and motionless, the happy expression on her face washed away like a summer day that is drowned by a harsh storm. Now she stood up, her eyes flashing like ice.

But Enjolras did not see the look in them—cold and betrayed.

She spoke: "Very well, Monsieur."

And Enjolras heard the cold, betrayed words that cut his heart like a knife.

And then he heard silence and silence alone. "Is she gone?" he said after a moment, hoping to hear not the drunkard's voice but hers, her voice, gentle and forgiving. But the wrong answer came: "She is gone."

Then the poor blind statue would have wept, but you see, blind statues, no matter how poor and grieved, cannot weep.

**By the way, there's something I've been struggling about for a while. You know last chapter Etienne Gregoire, one of the National Guards, found a living revolutionary (that sounded weird). Anyway, I have no idea who I should 'save'. What do you think? Joly or Combeferre or another Friend of the ABC?**


	22. Finding a Home

**Thank you all so much for the reviews! Well, here's a rather long chapter for you! I really would save all the Friends if I could, but I had to choose. Thanks for the suggestions though! :D Hope you enjoy! **

Chapter Twenty-Two

There is a little house in the left corner of the Rue Plumet that sits quietly without bothering anyone at all. Three persons lived here; one was Etienne Gregoire, the young soldier of France already introduced into the story. His mother, an old invalid, as well as his younger sister, kept him company in this serene, quiet house. For many years the three lived peacefully, until, that is, the Uprising. And then the mother coughed and wept for her only son while the sister sat looking out the window worriedly, starting whenever a cannon burst and waiting for her brother to return safely from the streets of Paris. When he returned, she sighed with relief and all would have gone back to normal… had the young Monsieur returned alone. But he had not.

He had brought a young man with him, a revolutionary and thus, a traitor to the beloved King and country. Of course, the mother was too sick to notice the newcomer; and the sister did not even realize that they were harboring a 'seditious rebel'. All she saw was a poor young man who was wounded and needed healing.

"What's his name?" said the sister as Etienne lay the unconscious man on the bed of their little spare room.

"I haven't had the chance to ask him. Margot, can you fix him up for me?"

"Well! What sort of a question is that!" said the girl stubbornly.

Etienne smiled. "Well, then you should get to it, little nurse!" He stood up, stretching his aching arms.

"There's some bread and soup I prepared for you downstairs," said Marguerite, answering the unasked question. Etienne chuckled softly, shaking his head, and was about to go down and fill his grumbling stomach when he heard his sister ask: "Etienne?"

"Hmm?"

"What happens when he is well?"

The smile on Etienne's face disappeared. He hesitated; he did not know what to say. "I must bring him to the Inspector."

She shivered like a child and, fixing her large, blue eyes upon him, asked: "What then?"

"Well, you see… the Inspector will have to… he'll have to, ah, check if he's healthy enough and then,"—his sister was still looking at him with questioning eyes—"well… and then if all is well and the man is completely healed… I'll have to… to bring him to jail." Etienne finished his explanation with a miserable sigh.

Margot, much to her brother's surprise, did not cry resentfully out or start weeping like many of the women he had seen grieving in the streets. But her eyes were troubled as she said slowly, "Why?"

"Well, he has defied the King, and you know that the King is a very good man." Although his sister was only a few years younger than himself, Etienne knew that Marguerite was sometimes like a simple child, especially when it came to politics.

"How has he defied the King?"

"Well, he participated in a revolution."

"What for?"

"He fought for more rights for the people. Equality and the like. He felt that the King was not benefiting society, especially the _abaisse_."

"Well is he?"

"What?"

"Is the King helping the people?"

Etienne hesitated, and Margot continued:

"I take walks with Maman sometimes—they make her feel better—and there are still poor children and families out there. This young man, wasn't he trying to help them?"

"Yes, but—but they don't want a King. They want to remove him."

"Oh. Shouldn't the King be helping the people then, if he really wants to be King?"

"Well… I suppose… I suppose he should."

His sister fell silent, and it was then that Etienne realized how much he admired this man, this young revolutionary lying, unconscious, on the bed. He had said it himself! He, Etienne Gregoire, a soldier of the King, had actually said it! That this wounded man fought for equality and a better world! Although he would dare not defy the King, Etienne knew that this man had a heart for the people, and a bold one at that.

"Poor fellow," said Margot softly, wiping the man's forehead with a wet cloth.

Etienne looked up and saw admiration, the same admiration that he felt, in his sister's eyes. "Yes, poor fellow," he murmured.

The young man moaned. And then he opened his eyes.

Combeferre heard a voice. It was a very soft, tender voice that seemed to be pitying him. Something cool and wet brushed against his forehead; he opened his eyes and saw a pretty angel. She wasn't looking at him. Her large, blue eyes were thoughtful.

_I must be dead, _thought he mournfully. _Poor Enjolras! I have failed him! But that is fine. Heaven is not so bad at all. _

Then he realized the young woman was not alone. A man in a uniform stood a few feet away… a man… in a uniform… He stood up, and the room began to spin around him. But he ignored it: "You! You! You're the one who killed Courfeyrac! It was you, wasn't it!" He started forward, not bothering to hear an answer, but his left knee failed him and he fell on the floor with a crash.

The girl knelt down quickly and began speaking with a soothing voice: "Hush now! You aren't well! Come lie on the bed now."

"Why?" said Combeferre, "So that you can bring me to prison all healthy and smiling?"

"Well, if you want to die instead then I'm sure I can think of something!" said the girl indignantly, withdrawing her hands and crossing her arms angrily. "And don't talk to my brother that way! He was just doing his job after all!"

Combeferre looked up at the silent man. He was staring at him with a mournful expression. Then the young man spoke: "I am sorry… I wish I hadn't been in the fight. I wish I'd been in another unit. I am truly, truly sorry. His name was Courfeyrac, was it? Yes. Yes, I'll find his family straightaway." He did not seem to be talking to Combeferre anymore. Instead he spoke absent-mindedly, and there was something so honest and grieving in his voice that Combeferre felt reassured.

The young revolutionary rubbed his head and collected his thoughts: "So our revolution failed, did it? How much of us are dead?"

"All. At least, as far as I know."

Combeferre shuddered. "My poor friends. Gavroche, so young. And Joly, so happy and, and fearful of death! But they are happy where they are. Alas for myself! Well! I will not waste away! I mustn't. Goodbye then! I'm going now!" He stood up with this bold resolution in mind, although he was ready to burst into tears, and began to walk forward again.

"Don't!" said the girl, "You'll only make yourself worse! You have to rest."

"And who, mademoiselle, are you?"

"Margot. I'm his sister."

"Ah, well, mademoiselle Margot, I must be going. Thank you!"

Etienne spoke again: "I can't let you go. I have my orders. Once you are well, I must bring you to the Inspector."

Combeferre fixed his eyes upon him.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur. I really don't want to, but—"

"But what?"

"But it is my duty! And, well, where will you go? After all, you are not safe wandering around in Paris. And France at that! You are a wanted traitor!" Then his voice dropped low and pleading: "Monsieur, please stay with us for now. Let my sister tend to your wounds. I will see what I can do for you."

Combeferre knew well enough the danger of being seen in the streets at such a time as this, especially if his name and face had been recorded. He sighed. "Very well. But… ah, vive le France!" said he, and then he fainted—for of course, he was trying very hard not to weep, like a cork holding a bottle from overflowing with the storm of events that had blown past in the few hours. And the result was, he fainted.

…

Eponine was mourning.

She had nowhere to go.

Her poorly bandaged wound needed attention, and her head was starting to whirl, but she paid no attention to that. So she sat down in the dark desolate wineshop, chairs and tables lying broken around her, and mourned.

Gavroche sat in her arms, trying to comfort her in his own childlike way. But he did not know what the matter was: "Are you crying for them? Combeferre, and, and Prouvaire… and Joly… are you crying for them?"

"No," said the girl gently, "I have already wept for them. But they are happy now, so my tears would be useless." She held her brother close in her arms and fell silent.

"Then why are you crying, 'Ponine? Are you hurt?" His eyes grew wide as the thought occurred to his little mind. "Do you need help? I… I can find a doctor! I'm sure of it!"

Eponine smiled. "I am fine. I was only thinking of Enjolras."

"Oh. Why?"

"His case is... is harder than the rest of them. You see, they died and that is very sad, but only for us, not for them. But Enjolras, he suffers."

"But he got angry at you!" said Gavroche fiercely. "Don't think like that, 'Ponine! You've got to be angry at him! You have to… you have to be, you know, angry! Don't feel sorry for him!" The child was still nursing his bitterness over Enjolras' cold treatment of his sister.

Eponine laughed, making Gavroche blush and snuggle closer. "You silly little man!" said she. "I feel so much better with you here."

"Really? See, you don't need Enjolras!" The boy sat up proudly, his head and thin little chest high.

Eponine would have laughed again, except that she didn't see the child's funny pride. She only heard his words, and that made her blush immediately, "Whatever made you think I need _him_?" The words were rushed and poorly covered with an indignant tone.

"Do you?" said Gavroche, looking straight into her eye.

She laughed: "Will you do something for me?"

"I'd do anything for you, 'Ponine!"

"Very well then! Can you look for a place for us to stay? It isn't safe to stay here, even if the National Guards don't know if I joined the rebellion. I'm sure they'd be suspicious if they found me here. And I need to move Enjolras and Grantaire as well. Do you think you can do it?"

"Do I think I can do it?" cried the child indignantly. "Why, if a man can do it, then of course I can!" And of he went, his little legs sprinting as fast as they could. Eponine smiled as she watched him leave.

…

Gavroche knew someone was following him.

The child born in the slums acquires certain things that the child of a bourgeois or an aristocrat does not have. He has felt more things and thus feels more deeply—he has felt the painful pangs of hunger and the ache of thirst; he has felt the scorching sun and the harsh winter wind; he has felt the sting of the lash and the smart of a blow; he has felt the cruelty of a merciless father and the absence of a mother's love.

He is also more keenly aware of his surroundings. He feels things keenly; he also sees things keenly. And little Gavroche knew someone was following him.

The sound of boots thumping on the pavement was ringing in his ear.

Gavroche had entered an abandoned street. _Promising_, said his brain. There were little shops on one side of the street and lonely tenements on the other. One of these must be neglected, for sure! But how was he to begin looking for a place to stay when there was someone following him?

The child began whistling and skipping around the street, his arms folded behind him. All the while his eyes searched the low buildings and his ears kept listening for the footsteps. They were still pattering closer.

Suddenly the footsteps stopped.

Gavroche, his little heart pounding and his eyes darting round anxiously, ached to turn around and see who it was that stood behind him. But he dared not do it so conspicuously. He continued to skip.

The footsteps began to pitter, patter closer; and then they stopped again!

The child thought his heart would burst. Striving for nonchalance, he stopped near one of the shops. He glanced at the window. He could hear his heart beating. He whistled, and his head turned ever so slowly.

His eyes fell upon two shiny, polished boots. He raised his eyes, took one look, and, before he could let out a scream, a white hand clapped down over his mouth.


	23. A Happy Reunion

**Thank you very much for the reviews! I'm so grateful! By the way, I'm sorry. All that suspense was really unnecessary pain for my dear readers; I couldn't help it. Hope you enjoy this chapter! I'm very impatient to get to Enjolras, but first things first.**

Chapter Twenty-Three

"Let go of me! Let go!"

Gavroche's voice came muffled behind the man's hand. The child struggled furiously against strong arms. And then he heard a voice:

"Please, please don't shout!" pleaded the man. His eyes darted anxiously from side to side. "Someone might hear."

"That's the purpose of shouting!" said the boy indignantly, his furious little voice still stifled behind the hand.

"Oh, sorry what? I'm going to remove my hand now, alright? Don't scream." The man withdrew his hand cautiously, placing it instead firmly on the child's shoulder, "Please, I won't hurt you. Don't run away."

"How am I supposed to run away when you've got your hands locked on my shoulders?" said Gavroche, trying to hide his fear with an excess of anger. "What do you want with me!"

"You're that boy who joined the revolutionaries at the wineshop." It wasn't a question.

"What if I am!"

"Don't worry. I'm not going to report you." He laughed, and the sound grated the boy's ear: "What threat would you be to our country?"

"Little people grow big!" snapped Gavroche resentfully.

The man laughed again. "Yes, I know. You forget that I was a little man like yourself a long time ago." This somewhat softened the child. "You were friends with the rebels. I need you to come with me."

Gavroche tilted his head, his eyes guarded, and opened his little mouth to speak, but before he could, someone said, rather heatedly: "I don't think so."

Both man and child turned, astonished, to the newcomer.

Eponine stood only a foot away, her arms crossed and her eyes flashing furiously. "Let the boy go," said she, stepping forward. "Who do you think you are! Leave my brother alone!"

Etienne, for indeed it was he, lifted his hands from the child's shoulders, both awe and amusement playing on his features. This girl was frightened; he could see it in her eye and she stared at the sword at his side and the uniform he wore as if it was some sort of poisonous snake. And yet she was bold; she refused to show him that she feared him.

"Well?!" said the girl.

"Pardon, I didn't mean any harm."

"Then what did you think you were doing?" replied Eponine, relieved and somewhat softened by his gentle, humble answer. Her experience with other National Guards had not at all been similar to this. And yet she refused to get caught of guard by some trick.

"I need to bring your brother somewhere."

Eponine looked him boldly in the eye: "Where? And… and why?"

"I… it's difficult to explain, mademoiselle. Please, he'll be safe with me. I give you my word."

"I go where he goes."

"Very well, mademoiselle." He bowed politely. "My name is Etienne Gregoire, if you please. I will not turn in your brother, mademoiselle, for joining the barricade. Please, come with me."

Eponine exchanged wordless glances with her brother; then they turned and followed the man into the unknown.

He led them by dark passages through Paris, his eyes darting round nervously at times when he heard voices. When people he knew passed him by, he gave a curt nod and walked just a bit faster, but still faster than before. Once a fellow guard greeted him; he turned red, stammered a greeting out, and began walking even faster. Gavroche was starting to wheeze. When Eponine asked the man what was the matter, Etienne just said, "Hush!" and went at an even quicker pace.

"Hush me indeed!" puffed Eponine indignantly.

Finally Etienne slowed down. They had reached a fine sight: there was a long wide street with little houses lined on the sides and looking very much like pretty, little doll houses. Tall fir trees swayed gently, their leaves rustling pleasantly in a soft breeze. After the dirty crowded tenements and narrow roads of Paris, Eponine felt as though she had entered the country—Gavroche thought he was in a fairy land.

"Where are you taking us, Monsieur?" said Eponine, quietly this time.

"My house."

They turned again to another street, and suddenly Eponine gave a soft gasp. She knew now where they were, though she wished she didn't. Her eyes began searching through the houses, while her heart cried, 'Stop! Stop at once! Do you really want to break me again!' Of course the girl didn't. But she couldn't help it. She knew where it would be, sitting silently in the corner. She could almost see it clearly in her mind. The house on the Rue Plumet.

"You live on this road?"

"Hmmm? Oh yes," said Etienne, quite politely this time. He seemed relieved to be in his own quiet neighborhood. "How do you like it?"

"It's beautiful," murmured Eponine. That was all.

"And it smells nice too!" cried Gavroche, releasing Eponine's hand and running happily around her.

Eponine stopped and sniffed. "Oh… yes, yes it does smell nice! I… I never noticed it before."

Etienne laughed at her bewilderment. "Oh, it's only coming from my house. Marguerite is cooking her world-famous pies for you!"

"Marguerite?"

"My sister."

"Monsieur, please tell me. Why are you bringing us to your house?"

Etienne smiled. "You will find out soon enough, mademoiselle."

"Is it a surprise?" said Gavroche gleefully, suddenly forgetting that he was speaking with a National Guard.

"Why, I suppose it is."

"A pleasant one, I hope," offered Eponine, though she really didn't hope at all.

They approached the house. Standing by the door was a pretty young woman with blue eyes. She was perhaps only a few years younger than Eponine. "You're back!" cried the girl happily.

"Hello Margot!" said Etienne smiling, and Gavroche, as he stared at the handsome young man's smiling face, began thinking that National Guards were not all that bad after all. "This is little Gavroche, the son of the revolution! This is his sister. Eponine, isn't it? I heard your brother talking with you on our way here," he explained.

"Yes," said Eponine, stepping forward timidly, and also rather reluctantly, as she stared resentfully at the girl's healthy red cheeks and dimples and thought of her own sister starving at home.

But immediately the resentment vanished as the girl, Margot, stepped forward with childish trust and kissed Eponine on the cheek, causing Eponine to blush furiously and feel very guilty indeed.

"Pleased to meet you," said the girl softly with a smile full of dimples. "Come on! I'm sure my brother hasn't told you anything at all about why he's brought you here. You must be bewildered! Don't worry," she added as they climbed the stairs of Etienne's home, "He likes to act mysterious."

This only made Eponine and her brother more mystified than ever.

But the mystery was all cleared up as soon as Margot opened the door of 'our little spare room'. For there, lying on the bed with a bandage wrapped over his head and a bandage wrapped over his leg, was Combeferre himself.

"Combeferre!" cried Gavroche, running and flinging himself into the young man's arms.

"Oh! Ouch, careful now!" said Combeferre, laughing and embracing the child as much as was possible. He looked very much like a mummy. "Eponine," said he, a big smile beaming on his face like sunshine. "So you're alive! How wonderful! If only…" and then the smile disappeared and he sighed. "If only Enjolras were alive to see you."

Eponine blushed and Gavroche cried out happily, "Oh but he is! He is alive! He's in the Café Musain with Grantaire!"

"Grantaire! Enjolras?!" Combeferre, an incredulous expression on his face, searched Eponine for signs of affirmation. She nodded, smiling. "Oh! Oh thank God!" Tears streamed down the young man's face as he embraced Gavroche's little body till the child thought he would burst.

They stayed there in that little room and talked for what seemed like hours. Etienne sat by the door, listening and rejoicing as if he had just seen his own family reuniting. Margot sat on the edge of Combeferre's bed, listening with fascination as the young man told them about the day of the revolution. Gavroche sat on the floor next to the bed, his eyes never leaving Combeferre's happy face, and Eponine sat in the corner, feeling as though her heart would burst from joy.

It was a very pretty sight. What finished the picture was the beautiful, shimmering light that fell in delicate fragments through the window, filling the little room with a glorious radiance.

After a few moments of crying and laughing and rejoicing, Gavroche said, "Oh but you must know something, Monsieur. Enjolras is blind and he won't talk to Eponine. She tried comforting him and he got all angry and threw a fit."

"Well! What nonsense! I'll need to cure him of this folly at once!" Combeferre sighed. "Ah, if only my good nurse was not so bothersome."

"Well, this is some gratitude!" said Margot, but she was smiling and laughing, just as overjoyed to see the reunion as Etienne.

"Look at me! Wrapped up in this, this thing! She's worse than Joly, Eponine, worse than Joly!" said Combeferre, shaking his head and laughing. "But I love her for it."

Eponine felt as though she had never been this happy in her entire life.

"But come," said Combeferre, "I'm sure my little nurse will allow me this one exceptional day, hmm?"

Margot sighed. "Oh very well! But you must be careful."

"Yes, mademoiselle," said Combeferre, smiling, and then: "Come on! Looks like good old Combeferre is going to do some rescuing!"

And off the happy troop went, smiling and laughing all the way.


	24. Forgiving, Forgetting and Moving Forward

**Thank you very much for the encouraging reviews! Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I did! :D**

Chapter Twenty-Four

"You might have brought a carriage, you know," huffed Eponine as Combeferre stopped a moment to 'take a quick breath', leaning against her shoulder and wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.

"I would have, if I'd known your friend complained this much!" laughed Etienne.

"Nonsense!" replied Combeferre coolly. "I can manage quite well. It's not like I'm going to the Café Musain in a royal procession. But if you want an easy return to your house, Monsieur, I suggest that one of you go back to the house and ask Marguerite to call for a carriage on the way back."

"Wisely said," said Etienne. "Who wants to go back?"

"I will!" piped up Gavroche, eager for a chance to help Combeferre. He also didn't want to be present if Enjolras threw another unpleasant 'fit'.

"Very well! Tell Margot to send the carriage at about,"—he looked at Combeferre, who replied that sometime before supper would be nice—"Tell her to send it at 'sometime before supper'. Be careful and don't look suspicious!"

Gavroche nodded and was off once more on his heels.

"Well! Here we are!" said Combeferre, a determined expression beginning to form on his set jaws and narrow eyes. "Let's see what all this nonsense is about!" His words were light and merry, yet his face was serious as he entered the back door, and Eponine heard him breathe in gently as his eyes took in the familiar walls that he had so often looked upon, the empty chairs that he had so often seen filled.

"Enjolras," he murmured quietly, as his eyes fell upon the cold, unmoving figure seated in front of him.

Enjolras started. "Grantaire," he murmured quietly, his voice hollow like the ghosts the little child reads about in fairy tales, "Grantaire, is that you? I…" he breathed in, his lips trembling, "I thought I heard… No, that is not him. He's dead. Grantaire? Why aren't you answering me?"

But Grantaire was too overwhelmed with joy and shock that he could not reply. "Enjolras!" he finally choked out, his eyes bulging like an unfortunate fish who finds himself out of water.

"What is it, man!" demanded Enjolras, clenching his jaws impatiently.

"Enjolras."

It was not Grantaire's voice. It was the voice he had heard a few moments ago, calling his name. He shuddered; his face turned pale. "Who is it there? Speak!" he cried, his eyes wandering wildly.

"Enjolras," said Combeferre again. "Do you know me?"

"No! No, I do not!" cried Enjolras, "Go away! You are an apparition! I am dreaming! Go away!"

Combeferre laid his hand on the bewildered man's shoulder. Enjolras started, jerking away from the touch and shuddering violently. "I am done for," he murmured, "I've gone mad! That's what it is! Some sick joke! I am mad now, am I? Oh! Forgive me Eponine!"—here Eponine, who was standing, silent, near the door, as if unwilling to approach the bewildered man, suddenly started at the name—"Ah, but I am finished."

"No," said the voice, sternly, "You are not finished! Touch my hand, Enjolras! Listen to my voice! You know me!"

"It cannot be!" cried Enjolras, and in his heart horror was struggling with the desperate desire to believe. "Combeferre!" he choked out.

"Yes. I am here," said the voice, calmly now.

"No! You are dead! I am mad!"

"You are not mad, Monsieur. I did not die. But if I must die to retrieve the sensible, good young man that I once knew, then so be it!" The hand that rested on Enjolras' shoulder withdrew suddenly.

"No, no! Don't go! I don't care if you are a ghost or not!"

"But I am not a ghost," said Combeferre, beginning to get impatient.

Enjolras pressed his lips together and frowned; he was thinking deeply. Finally he said quietly: "Then you really are alive?"

"Yes," was the relieved reply, "I was saved."

"How?"

"This man saved me." Here Etienne stepped forward, although of course it was no use really because Enjolras couldn't see him. "He is one of the National Guards, but with a good heart, surprisingly."

"Why, is it so hard to believe that a man can be both?" said Etienne, smiling slightly. He looked at Enjolras and beheld a great man with wild hair untamed for days; cold lips forbidding in their severity; penetrating eyes that, blind though they were, struck Etienne's heart like a piercing arrow. This was Enjolras, and Etienne was filled with a deep awe and respect.

"Monsieur, I thank you for saving my friend's life," said Enjolras.

Gavroche needn't have avoided an encounter with his former idol, for in the past few days Enjolras had changed. He had been bitterly penitent after his cruelty towards Eponine and her little brother; he felt that his heart would burst from remorse. It was a double dagger to think that Eponine would not forgive him, that she never would. Although Enjolras still had his pride, he no longer withdrew from the world in a dark cloak of bitter coldness. Enjolras had learned a lesson. It was, in short, to forgive, forget and take another step forward.

Etienne bowed. Although Gavroche had told him about the revolutionary's blindness, the young Guard felt that a respectful bow was appropriate.

"Well, I'm glad you're alive, my friend," said Combeferre, smiling.

"As am I for you," replied Enjolras.

"And what of me? Have you all forgotten your devoted drunkard?!" cried Grantaire indignantly.

Combeferre laughed. "A friend, not a drunkard… at least, not at the moment. It's good to see you, Grantaire. I see you've been taking care of our friend, eh?"

"You speak of me as if I were a child," muttered Enjolras. Ever so slowly, he was beginning to feel lighter, as if Combeferre was a sun that was melting away the sorrow.

"You fellows shouldn't stay here," said Combeferre, not at all listening to Enjolras' complaint. "This place isn't good for your health. Come! Let's look for a better home, shall we?"

"But where?" moaned Grantaire miserably.

"Why, come stay with me!" said Etienne suddenly.

"I am very grateful to you, Monsieur," began Enjolras, "But I'm afraid we couldn't possibly—"

He was going to say "intrude", but Etienne interrupted: "Please! It would lighten my heart, like paying a debt, you know."

"A debt for what?" laughed Grantaire.

Etienne looked hard at Grantaire, and suddenly his cheerful eyes looked very sad indeed. "A debt," he murmured softly, and then, in an attempt to be happy once more: "I simply insist! Come on! I think I hear the carriage!" And he hopped outside.

Enjolras looked questioningly at Combeferre, who replied softly: "Courfeyrac."

Grantaire hurried outside. As the other two men followed behind, Enjolras suddenly stopped. He turned round and though he was blind, he knew what he would have seen. He could picture it in his mind: the chairs, the stacks of paper, the little tables and candles—the tiny back room of the Café Musain.

He sighed wearily; a tear dropped down his cold cheek. "How can I forget you, my friends?"

Combeferre stood beside him. "We won't. We won't forget them, Enjolras. We have grieved for them. But our mourning is over, and it is time for us to celebrate."

"Celebrate what?" said Enjolras flatly.

Combeferre smiled: "We have grieved for their deaths. Now we shall celebrate their lives." He patted Enjolras' back and limped into the carriage, where Etienne and Grantaire were waiting.

Enjolras contemplated over his friend's words. Was the grieving over at last? He sighed.

"Monsieur?"

Enjolras started slightly. He knew that voice. "Eponine?"

"At your side, Monsieur."

"How many times have I told you not to call me that?"

There was no answer.

"Eponine… Eponine, are you afraid of me?" His heart pounded as he waited for an answer.

"Should I be?"

"No," said he firmly. "I would never want that. Are you… are you angry with me?"

There was a laugh, and then: "I should be."

Enjolras laughed too. "Yes, you should be!" He paused, sighing. "Eponine, I'm sorry… for, for causing you pain. Do I have your forgiveness?"

There was a painful silence at his side.

"Eponine?"

"Shh!"

"What is it?" said Enjolras, suddenly wary.

"I just want to relish this moment."

"What? What are you talking about? Eponine?"

"Monsieur Enjolras, leader of the people, the man who defied a King—is apologizing to me!" Eponine burst out laughing at the sight of Enjolras' annoyed expression as he took in Eponine's words.

"Well you won't have me groveling at your feet now!" said he irritably as Eponine's laughter continued to grate his ear. Actually, he told himself that the sound was irritating, when, in truth, he thought her laughter was like music to his ears.

Eponine stopped laughing and looked at him gravely. "There is nothing now to forgive, Monsieur." His eyes searched longingly for her face; she knew what he was looking for, and the next moment he felt her hand resting gently on his shoulder. He touched it, as if to make sure it was really there, and then, reassured, he sighed.

"You are there, Eponine?"

"I am here."

Then Enjolras took one step, and he was out of the Café Musain.


	25. Trivial Trifles

**This is a light, cheerful chapter, since I feel that after such long chapters of tears and drama, I needed some cheering up. Sorry that it's so short though. Thanks for your lovely reviews and hope you enjoy!**

Chapter Twenty-Five

Things, of course, did not settle back to normal instantly.

Having eight people in one little house that may well be called a cottage with two floors is not easy business—there were only four bedrooms, and so the arrangement was like so: Enjolras and Combeferre, Etienne and Grantaire, Eponine and Margot, and lastly, Etienne's mother in her own. What of little Gavroche? He tried living in Enjolras' room (which was the spare room) for two nights, but walls and doors cannot hold the stubborn child who has spent his entire life as a nomad; the result was this: he left. Oh, of course he visited many times and joined them for breakfast, but only visits, and then off he went again!

Eponine and Margot got on marvelously, as did Etienne and Grantaire—while the sober drunkard spent these days rethinking his life and reminiscing quietly, Etienne was a fantastic chatterbox, so you see, the two were perfect for each other!

What really upset the balance of the household were Combeferre and his roommate. This was quite unusual, since during the days in the Café Musain, the two also got on perfectly fine. But now there would be times when Enjolras, blind eyes darting furiously around and hair in disarray, would crash into a very cheerful breakfast and demand irritably: "Combeferre! Where's my comb?"

"Why, I didn't get your comb," would be the calm reply.

Enjolras would retort: "Of course you did! Who else would? You took it!"

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did!"

And this would keep going until every breakfaster suddenly didn't feel very hungry anymore. There were other instances, such as Enjolras complaining that Combeferre snored like a volcano, which led to a nasty argument that went on for hours; or that incident in which Combeferre, who was trying to avenge himself for a recent argument that he had lost, accused Enjolras of writing poems about Eponine. Of course, there was no evidence.

"He burned them!" was Combeferre's unhesitant reply when Etienne, who was acting as judge, asked for proof.

"No, I didn't!" said Enjolras, his cheeks red, either from anger or embarrassment, but no one could tell which one it was. "Because… because there was nothing to burn!"

"You're blushing! Guilty I say!" cried Combeferre. And at that precise moment, Eponine entered the courtroom.

"Guilty of what?" said she innocently.

"Eponine! Just in time! He," declared Combeferre, thrusting his finger towards Enjolras, "wrote po—"

"Aah! Ah, he means nothing at all!" interrupted Enjolras, attempting to laugh. "Ha, ha! We were just playing a game, weren't we, Combeferre? We just finished, so—"

"He wrote ballads about you! I saw them with my own eyes!" screamed Combeferre.

And this led to much denial, blushing, fighting, and, of course, chaos.

Finally, one particular morning during another heated argument between the two, troublesome roommates, Eponine decided to take a stand.

"Enough!" she snapped. "I've had enough!"

The voices hushed instantly as the two young men fixed their eyes on the girl.

"You," she continued, "have been acting like silly children the past few days, while Etienne and Grantaire have been perfect angels! Look! Even Gavroche is acting older than his years! And here you are, being… being…" She lifted her hands in exasperation.

"Babies given to idiocy," someone muttered. Etienne thought it was Margot.

Combeferre bit his lip; Enjolras' forehead was as red as a cherry. "We are really, terribly sorry, Eponine," began Combeferre. He jabbed Enjolras with his elbow:

"Hmm? Oh! Yes, I… I apologize," muttered Enjolras.

"We won't do it again," said Combeferre, and, surprisingly, they never did.

...

And then there was another troublesome matter, and this, not surprisingly, had to do with Enjolras. After his very humble actions in the Café Musain, while he was mourning for his friends and his blindness and apologizing to Eponine, he realized that he was being humble—and this is never a good thing to do, for once a person cries out: "By Jove! I'm being humble!" then of course, he isn't being humble at all.

Pride is a difficult thing to get rid of, and Enjolras was just full of it. This only made things more complicated now that Enjolras was blind, for his pride made him refuse to accept help, which was kindly offered. Walking down the stairs, finding his way to the kitchen, finding certain objects that seemed to disappear—all of these were done alone and without assistance, by Enjolras' own doing.

One day Eponine passed Enjolras' door and saw Enjolras feeling around vainly for his quill. He had taken to writing for hours, even though his journal was a mess of blots and scribbles.

"Oh, let me get it for you, Monsieur," began Eponine.

"No, no, that is unnecessary, I assure you," replied Enjolras quickly. "I can find it myself."

And then his cheeks became very red as minutes passed and he still hadn't found it. "Where is that rotten quill!" he muttered irritably.

"Here," said Eponine, smiling slightly and holding out the treacherous thing, which she handed to him with a stifled laugh.

He heard it and turned even more red. "Thank you," said he stiffly, sitting down and searching now for his ink stand. He found it—after spilling it clumsily over his papers.

"Enjolras!" said Eponine, suppressing another laugh that threatened to erupt, "Here! Let me write for you!"

In the end, Eponine succeeded in crushing Enjolras' pride with her patience, although of course, Eponine had her own hot temper, and whenever Enjolras' arrogance lasted longer than usual, she would burst as well. But the two got on wonderfully afterwards, and Eponine became his eyes. Enjolras had learned a new lesson, and that was true humility in little trifles.


	26. Clearing Away Some Darkness

**I'm sorry for taking so long! I've had a long week of school and such. Anyway, thanks for the reviews and hope you enjoy! :D**

Chapter Twenty-Six

"Good morning, Eponine!"

Combeferre sat with a mug in one hand, a fork in the other, and a beaming smile on his face. "Come and join us for breakfast!"

Eponine stood on the stairs. What she saw before her warmed her right down to her toes—the same feeling one gets when drinking hot cocoa on a winter day. She saw a family. Though not exactly a family in terms of relation, it was a family bound together by love, kindness, and laughter.

"Have a goodnight's rest, did you?" asked Etienne as Eponine sat down.

"Yes, thank you." She glanced at Enjolras. His face was hidden behind a large newspaper, which, of course, he couldn't really read. "And you, Enjolras?"

"Hm?"

"Did you sleep well?"

"Ask Combeferre," was the reply, to which Combeferre let out a snort like a horse and rolled his eyes.

"Margot? Did you bring up Mother's breakfast tray?" asked Etienne.

"Oh! I forgot!" said the girl with dismay. "I'd better bring it up now."

"I'll do it," began Eponine. "I'm finished eating anyway. You go and enjoy yourself. You didn't finish telling Combeferre that story you told me last night. I'm sure he's _dying_ to know the end. He wouldn't stop talking about that poem of yours just the other day." This was accompanied with a smirk, although it was so small and vanished so quickly that Margot and Combeferre hardly noticed it.

Grantaire, however, glanced at Eponine, and a ghostly smile played on his lips; Enjolras suddenly choked behind his newspaper, and afterwards explained that he had choked on his tea. Etienne accepted this explanation, but later on Margot never recalled Enjolras ever drinking tea at all.

As soon as Eponine disappeared up the stairs, there came a loud knock on the door.

"I'll get it," said Margot. "It's probably Gavroche."

She disappeared into the adjacent room and opened the door.

"Who is it, Margot?" called Etienne.

Margot's answer came in a rather shaky yet polite tone: "Oh! Monsieur Inspector!"

This was enough to send every young man and woman in the house flying. Combeferre jumped out of his seat as if he was sitting on a porcupine. Grantaire's fork stopped in midair and his face turned pale. There are moments when one's heart stops beating and leaps up into the throat; when one's hands and knees start trembling visibly—this was one of those moments.

"Combeferre!" hissed Etienne, "Get Enjolras and Grantaire out of here!"

"But where?"

And then in the adjacent room heard a deep voice: "May I come in?" and Margot's very nervous reply: "Oh! Of course! But wouldn't you like to take a look at our garden first? My brother is still finishing his breakf—"

"No, thank you," interrupted the polite yet stern voice. "I'd like to speak with Monsieur Gregoire immediately."

Heavy boots clumped on the floor, and Grantaire, who had frozen at the sound of the Inspector's voice, immediately grabbed Enjolras by the arm and rushed up the stairs.

"What was that?" demanded the Inspector's voice. "I heard running."

"Please!" said poor Margot, "Please sit down. I'll call my brother." Little footsteps approached the dining room.

Marguerite felt as though her heart was bursting! With every step closer to the room where her brother sat waiting, her heart beat faster and her breathing came quick. She tried slowing her pace, hoping to find only one young man in the dining room; by the time she entered the room, she had stopped breathing.

It was a relief, then, to see Etienne sitting in his chair, sipping his tea calmly—alone.

"Monsieur," murmured Margot, "the Inspector is here to see you."

Etienne cleared his throat. "Of course, of course." He stood up, took a deep breath, and with a resolute expression in his clear, blue eyes, left the dining room. He knew what he would soon see. A man, standing in the middle of the room, too impatient to even think of making himself comfortable; a man standing at a formidable height, his large frame blocking out the light of the window with imposing power; a man with stern jaw and piercing eye—Inspector Javert.

"Monsieur Inspector!" said Etienne, feigning delight, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

The Inspector, however, was not at all flattered. "The radical," said he, "the traitor to his country—where is he?"

"Why, I… he isn't… he isn't here."

"I'm afraid I didn't hear you quite right. I thought I heard you say, 'He isn't here'."

"Monsieur, he isn't here. I let him go."

"You what?" The Inspector turned and looked fully into Etienne's face, his eyes black and cold, challenging him with their severity.

Any great man would have weakened under such a gaze, but young Etienne, with admirable courage, managed to reply calmly, "The King has issued an amnesty." He did not actually know if the King had did such a thing or not, but in the desperation of the moment, he decided to give it a try.

"I am fully aware of that, Monsieur Gregoire," said the other, equally calm.

Etienne almost breathed a sigh of relief. _I should read the newspaper more often, _he thought. And then he hesitated. "Then... why are you searching for him?"

"The King has not the right to grant pardon for such an offense!" said the Inspector heatedly, his temper rising. "These men have defied France! They have defied the Law! It is not in the King to forgive these traitors! These sinners! Who is the King to grant mercy? No! These men must be brought to justice! They must be hanged! They must suffer the consequences of their actions!"

"You would defy the King?!" Etienne almost choked, his face a picture of bewilderment.

"Out of my way!" cried the Inspector, pushing Etienne away from the door and entering the dining room. "Where is he? Is he upstairs?" he demanded. Without waiting for a reply, he climbed up the stairs, his boots thudding on each step.

Etienne followed as if in a dream. He watched as the Inspector rushed angrily from room to room, searching wildly with his dark, piercing eyes. _We are doomed,_ thought Etienne weakly. But the Inspector was getting even more impatient. Etienne, with much surprise, realized that Javert could not find them.

There was one last room left. The Inspector approached it with a greedy look in his eye.

"Wait!" cried Etienne, stepping in between the formidable man and the door. "This is my mother's room! Surely you would not think of disturbing her!"

The Inspector did not hesitate. "Monsieur Gregoire," said he as calmly as he could, "This man is dangerous. I am entering for the safety of your mother." He stepped forward.

"No," said Etienne firmly. "My mother is not well."

The Inspector's face darkened, turned red, and then purple. "How dare you!" he cried, raising his hand. Etienne waited for the blow, but suddenly the door opened.

Out came an old woman with gray hair and gray eyes that were even sterner, even more piercing, than the Inspector's. "Is there a problem?" The voice that uttered these words trembled slightly—it was the voice of an old woman, and yet it was also grave and severe. She stooped slightly and coughed, yet there was something stately and noble in the way she stood.

For the first time, Etienne saw that the Inspector was embarrassed. "My good Madam," began the Inspector.

"So there is nothing wrong?" interrupted the old lady. "You just interrupted me from my rest. Is there something you want or can I go back into my room in peace?"

"Ah… yes, you see… ah, nothing at all! Nothing at all!" The Inspector's face had now turned a very pale yellow. "Nothing at all!" he repeated. "I take my leave. Madam. Monsieur Gregoire."

He bowed and walked down the stairs as calmly as possible, and as soon as he had stepped out of the house, he muttered furiously: "Go back to her room in peace! Insolence!" Off he went in a huff, and that was the last Etienne ever saw of the Inspector Javert.

Etienne breathed a sigh of relief, and Margot rushed up the stairs.

"Thank you, Mother," said Etienne in a respectful tone. "Ah, where are my friends, if you please?"

The old woman turned and pointed to something in her room. Etienne saw that it was a closet.

"Ah, Eponine? Combeferre?" called Etienne.

Suddenly the closet door opened and out came Eponine, Combeferre, Enjolras, and Grantaire in a heap. Enjolras groaned: "Get off!" and gave Combeferre a good kick. Etienne almost laughed and Margot clapped her hands in delight.

"Oh Mother, you are brilliant!" cried the girl.

Eponine thought she saw a ghost of a smile on the lips of the old woman with the stern eyes. Later that night, Etienne's mother would lie down on her bed, sigh, and say: "The funnest I've had in years!"


	27. Cupid in the Garden

**Here's a nice, long chapter for your enjoyment! I don't really like the way I wrote it, but I like the content, and I hope you do too! I'm so sorry for those of you waiting for a pronouncement on Enjolras' condition. That will come soon! For now, hope you enjoy! :D **

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The next few weeks went by wonderfully for Eponine. Each day brought a delight of its own. Margot had soon become a dear friend and would teach her how to sew, cook and spend the day's hours fruitfully.

Margot became mother, sister and confidant.

Eponine's mother, Madame Thenardier, always spent the day worrying over what to feed her children; she worried and scolded and fretted so much that the love that produced this worrying and scolding and fretting was soon lost in the process. The result was two neglected daughters and a son whom she hardly saw. But Margot was born in different circumstances. She had a mother who loved her dearly; she had a brother who loved her dearly; and she had all the time in the world. So when fresh, young, innocent Marguerite saw the bold, dirty, neglected Eponine, her heart was so ready to love the mistreated Eponine and care for her and teach her in return how to love. And Eponine, bewildered, couldn't help floating into her open arms. So Margot became a mother.

Eponine's little sister, Azelma, would have loved Eponine with all the love that she could bestow. But poor, fragile Azelma, who adored her older sister dearly, needed much more love than the strong Eponine. So Eponine ended up caring for her little sister instead of the other way around. But everyone needs to be loved and cared for, so Margot filled this place as well. Margot became a sister.

As for being confidant, Marguerite had such a childish innocence and was always ready to listen. She could keep a secret—a talent which both Combeferre and Enjolras so desperately needed—and she knew that when Eponine asked for help, she didn't want advice but a ready ear.

So Marguerite did and became so much for Eponine that she most definitely ought to have been rewarded. One day, however, Eponine, who couldn't help being a mischievous little rogue at times, got a sudden idea into her head—a silly, whimsical idea. And once Eponine got a silly, whimsical idea into her head, she just had to play it out.

The idea formed itself one bright, cheerful morning. Eponine was sitting in the kitchen, talking to Enjolras, who—at the moment—made a very poor partner for a conversation (he answered with monosyllables). Grantaire sat on the stairway, listening and observing.

Suddenly, Combeferre rushed down the stairs, trying to avoid Grantaire. The attempt was unsuccessful in that Margot was heading up the stairs with a book covering her face. There was a tremendous crash and down Combeferre and Margot went, books and all.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, mademoiselle! So, so sorry!" began Combeferre with a flushed face.

"Oh, it's alright. Really."

"I am so clumsy! Are you sure you're alright? No, I must make it up to you! I simply _must_!"

"Oh no!" protested little Margot, beginning to blush furiously, "I'm really fine, Monsieur. Really! But thank you very much for your kindness!" and off she went, blushing and trying unsuccessfully to calm herself. Combeferre watched her go with longing eyes; then he sighed and went on his way.

Eponine watched all of this with wide, interested eyes. When the scene ended, the eyes narrowed, and her lips formed a mischievous grin. She laughed.

"What is it?" asked Enjolras, feigning irritability, "You grate my ear! Stop that, will you?"

Eponine laughed again, this time deliberately.

"What's the matter? If you won't tell me, I'll stand up and leave," warned Enjolras. Eponine, however, didn't feel threatened at all.

"Oh? And where, might I ask, will you go?"

"Away from here." He paused. "Come now, 'Ponine. Tell me."

"Very well. Did you see Combeferre and Margot?" This question only made Enjolras frown. Eponine apologized quickly and continued: "Well, did you hear them?" He nodded. "_Well_? What do you think of it?"

Enjolras frowned. "Of what?"

"Of Combeferre and Margot!"

The frown only deepened until, after a few minutes of silence, Enjolras was able to understand the significance of the conjunction. "Combeferre and Margot," he muttered. And then suddenly he laughed.

"Now _you_ grate my ear! What's so funny?"

"You haven't told me why _you_ laughed. Yes, you told me that Combeferre perhaps has deeper feelings for Margot than for a friend, and maybe she does too. That is enough to cause a smile but not a laugh. So why did you laugh?"

"Well," began Eponine slowly, "I have decided to—"

"Murder Cupid, steal his arrows and pretend that no crime has been committed," interrupted Enjolras matter-of-factly. He laughed again. "Yes, I know. I was thinking about it and I realized that Eponine Thenardier is exactly the sort of person who would think of such an idea! To act as matchmaker?! Why, the idea fits you perfectly!"

"You're mocking me, aren't you?" began Eponine irritably.

Enjolras laughed again. He hadn't laughed for many days now, but he could just imagine the annoyed expression on his companion's face. "Of course I am! You, a matchmaker?" He sighed, attempting to put on a serious face. "No, my dear friend, let nature run its course. If they really do hold such feelings for each other, I'm sure everything will play out soon enough."

"Since when did _you_ know so much about love?" said Eponine, still irked.

Enjolras blushed and did not answer.

Grantaire, however, who had observed and listened to the whole thing, answered for him: "I've been reading poems and love stories to him."

"Grantaire!" choked Enjolras, his face a painting of a storm, thunder and all.

Eponine burst into a fit of laughter; Grantaire shrugged, grinned and went back to his observing; and Enjolras crossed his arms, cleared his throat, and felt for a newspaper.

"Hiding your red cheeks?" taunted Eponine.

Enjolras flushed furiously, but of course the newspaper shielded him. He cleared his throat again, put down his shield, and said: "Very well, Eponine. You think you can match Combeferre and Margot. I say you can't. If I win, you have to apologize to me—"

"For what!" exploded Eponine.

He went on: "Apologize to me and promise never to tell anyone what Grantaire said. If I lose… well, you get to taunt me for the rest of my miserable life."

At this Eponine laughed with glee, rubbed her hands together in anticipation, and declare: "Well then! Let's get on with it!"

"You have only this afternoon and evening to have them realize their feelings for each other," warned Enjolras.

"Don't you worry about _that_, Monsieur," was the gleeful reply, "You can start worrying over the next coming years of your life!"

…

"Well? So what's your plan, Cupida?" said Enjolras that afternoon.

"Oh, hush will you! If you don't behave yourself, you'll ruin the whole plan!" snapped Eponine.

"Well?"

Eponine sighed. "Etienne said that he wants to take a walk around the neighborhood. Combeferre and Margot are going. And so am I. Oh, and you too. You'll be needed."

"What? No, you can't make me go."

"You have to. And besides, you need some fresh air."

"Nothing is going to make me help you accomplish your devious schemes," replied Enjolras stubbornly, emphasizing "devious".

Eponine laughed. "Well, you have no choice. Grantaire will be out so you'll be alone here with the old lady. You don't want that, do you? You _need_ me. I'm your hands and eyes. Without me, you'll—"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Enjolras crossly.

A storm of footsteps crashed down the steps and Etienne appeared: "All ready to go, 'Ponine? Margot and Combeferre are waiting outside."

"Yes, we're coming!"

"Will Enjolras be joining us?"

"Yes, he will," answered Eponine emphatically.

…

It was a beautiful afternoon. The sky was a clear blue ocean, and the sun smiled mildly from its perch in the clouds.

"Just the right weather for a walk!" declared Combeferre. "Didn't I tell you?"

"Yes, but where shall we go?" began Margot, looking round. "I suppose we'll just have to walk around the roads then?"

Then Eponine, who had been silent the whole while, suddenly said: "Oh! I know the perfect place! There's a house just by the corner. Last week I saw that there were no occupants. There was a gardener there who told me so, and he welcomed me to come visit the garden any time I liked. It's a very pleasant little place!"

As she said this, Enjolras, whose arm was linked in hers as she led him on, fidgeted and searched for her face with an anxious, concerned expression.

"Shall we go there?"

"Oh do let's!" cried Margot. "I love gardens!"

"Very well!" said Etienne, "Off we go! Lead us there, Eponine!"

…

"Here we are!" declared Eponine triumphantly. "Oh, look at the fountain!" She hurried to Cupid, pulling Margot with her. Etienne and Combeferre followed.

Two things were going round in Eponine's mind at this moment. The first was this: she was already beginning to put her plan to action and was immensely delighted with herself. The second was much graver—indeed, a startling thought after that silly amusement of matchmaking. She was thinking of Marius. No doubt the reader will have divined that this garden was none other than Monsieur Fauchelevent's. She looked upon Cupid's marble cheek and thought she saw tears. She could almost hear that laughter mingling with the silence.

Eponine pulled away from her reverie. "Etienne," she began slyly, "I want to show you and Enjolras some flowers. You know what a rhododendron is, don't you?" She began pulling Etienne away.

Margot, who caught Eponine's words, began, "Oh, I'd love to see it!" but Eponine interrupted, "No! No, no. Combeferre would be all alone. After all, I'm sure _he_ doesn't want to see a—a boring old plant! No. Just think! He'd be all alone."

"Oh," began Margot innocently, "I wouldn't want that."

"Good! We'll be right back!"

Eponine had just successfully isolated the two "lovers" in the most romantic part of the whole garden. Eponine Thenardier knew this garden by heart, and she knew that spot, right next to the fountain, where once, a long time ago, a young man and his sweetheart sat laughing and trying to catch a butterfly.

"What are they doing?" whispered Enjolras after a while.

Eponine glanced at the two lovers. They sat on a bench—Margot was looking down bashfully, a wonderful blush coloring her cheeks; he held her hand, a tender expression on his face. When he looked up, his face was lighted with an inexpressible joy.

"Enjolras!" he called. "Eponine! Congratulate us! Marguerite has—we are… we're getting married!"

"What!" Etienne stood behind Eponine, a blank expression on his face.

Immediately poor Combeferre blushed: "Oh, well, that is… if, ah, if we have your… your…"

But he did not have to worry, for Etienne suddenly laughed and cried: "I've been waiting for this for many weeks now! Of course you have my approval! She loves you. You love her. Everyone saw it but you two!"

There was much celebrating and laughing after that.

"Well, Eponine," began Enjolras, "I suppose you _do_ have a gift in matchmaking. I must admit it, my dear friend."

Eponine didn't answer. Her eyes remained fixed on the two lovers laughing on their bench.

"Eponine," said Enjolras quietly, "Are you thinking of him?"

"Yes," came the soft, regretful answer. He heard the ache hiding in the words.

"Do you… do you still love him?"

Eponine looked into his marble face and saw all the anxiety and care that he held locked inside. "No. I wasn't thinking about _that_. I was thinking about _them. _Marius and Cosette. And now Combeferre and Margot. Their happiness. I—" Her voice broke. She paused, breathing in, and then began again, "I keep thinking. Can I ever be happy? I've spent my whole life searching… looking for something. For some light. Will I ever have that happiness?"

"You will," began Enjolras firmly, grasping the hand that had guided him through so many dark and difficult days, "You will be happy again."

She smiled faintly.

Enjolras sighed. "If only I could see you."

"You can, Monsieur," said Eponine softly, "You have always seen me."


	28. A Wedding Invitation

**Thank you very much for the reviews! The wedding is coming but here's a little chapter of itty-bitty drama! Hope you enjoy! :D **

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"A cold day in August," sighed Eponine, snuggling into the folds of her blanket. "It doesn't seem right."

Marguerite laughed softly on the other side of the room. "Let's hope it won't start snowing on the wedding day," she whispered back.

"Hmm," came the sleepy reply, "A white wedding… doesn't sound that bad…"

"Eponine?"

"Yes?"

"Who else do you think I should invite? Maman and Etienne, you and Enjolras, and of course Grantaire and Gavroche will be going. From Calais, a Marius Pontmercy and two of my friends from the convent have been invited. And Maman has some old friends she'd like to invite too—"

"Wait, wait! What? What was that you said?"

Margot lifted her eyebrows in perplexity: "Maman invited some old friends, Aunt Madeleine and, oh! what's her name?"

"No, no," interrupted Eponine, looking hard at Marguerite with eyes that were fully awake, "Before that. You said a name." Her voice dropped low and quiet: "A man's name."

"Oh! You mean, Marius Pontmercy? He's a good friend of Combeferre's. Combeferre told me that he wanted to find him. So he sent a letter, hoping Monsieur Pontmercy would read it. But Eponine!" Marguerite sat up, holding a candle up in the darkness, "You look pale! Are you ill?"

She hurried to Eponine's side. "Your hands are cold! Eponine!"

"No, no," said Eponine hurriedly, "I'm fine. Really, I am fine. You surprised me. That's all."

Margot looked at her with large, concerned eyes.

"Really," continued Eponine, trying to be reassuring, "I'm alright."

…

The next morning, Enjolras asked Eponine if she knew about the invitation.

"Yes," murmured Eponine. "Yes, Margot told me last night."

"Eponine," began Enjolras, "I understand if this is very hard for you. I tried convincing Combeferre not to send the invite—"

Eponine looked up, surprised: "You did that? Why?"

Enjolras cleared his throat and fidgeted. "I know you think I'm a horrible friend, not wanting Marius to come, after all we've been through together. It's just that…" Enjolras sighed. "I was angry at him," he admitted, sighing. "I was angry about the way he treated you, as if you were a dog. And I didn't want him to come back and smile at you as if nothing happened. I just wanted you to be happy."

Eponine took his hand reassuringly. "I am happy. I was just surprised and anxious. But can you promise me something?"

He pressed her hand gently.

Eponine fidgeted now, trying to overcome her pride: "Stay with me? On the wedding day, when Monsieur Marius comes, will you stay with me?"

"Through the whole ceremony."

…

Marius Pontmercy sat slumped in his chair, staring blankly at the white paper on the table. He bent forward and read the lines again with trembling fingers. Then he sat back once more, his hand lifeless at his side, his eyes staring at nothing.

"Marius?"

Cosette stood hesitantly by the door. Her husband turned and stared at the slight, pretty figure before him with vacant eyes. He did not answer.

"What troubles you, dearest?" said she, moving softly to his side and taking his hand.

Slowly, he bent forward and reached for the paper, handing it to her without a word.

With both doubt and curiosity, his wife read the letter:

_To Marius Pontmercy: _

_Dear friend, I hope that this letter is being read by the same eyes that belong to Marius Pontmercy, the valiant Friend of the abaisse, the Friend who spent several nights in the Café Musain listening to a few excited young men chattering about their silly dreams and hopes. If this is indeed the same Marius Pontmercy, he will no doubt be perplexed in reading these words. _

_Ease your mind. This is a Friend writing to you. You may have heard that every single man fighting in the June Rebellion, fighting against injustice, fighting for the people, has been killed. That is a lie. Four men survived; one woman survived. You say that is impossible. You say that cannot be. But let me remind you, my friend, that you are one of those four. A man almost died saving your life; you mourned his death, but he is still alive. Scarred, but alive. He is one of the four. Another man—a drunkard—you thought was dead, and you mourned for him. But he is one of the four. A woman almost died from a gunshot saving your life; you mourned her second death, but she survived not one but two deaths. And the last, the fourth? This is the fourth, writing to you now. _

_Ease your mind. I hope you remember your dear friend, Combeferre. I hope you remember how kind he was to you. But I especially hope you remember that he never teased you about your love for that beautiful mystery woman. I hope you remember that he never laughed at you like all those other young Friends. Return good for good. I have found my own beautiful apparition, and, in an attempt to keep my ghost from disappearing, I have asked her to marry me. Now I ask you not to tease me. It will be a wonderful event, this wedding. It will be even more wonderful if you would be there. So this is an invitation. The wedding is on the 30__th__ of August. You will find us at the Rue Plumet, the house on the left corner. _

_I hope you are not overwhelmed. I myself can scarcely dare to believe that you will accept the invitation, that I will see you in a few weeks. If Joly were alive, the dear fellow would tell you to calm yourself. Please come. _

_ Combeferre, a Friend_

Marius broke the silence: "My Friends… they are… they are…"

Cosette looked up from the letter, joy lighting her blue eyes. "Alive!" said she. "They aren't dead! You… you thought they died, but they didn't. But," she paused, confused. "But what's wrong? Why aren't you happy?"

"Of course I am. I am happy! It's just that… I've grieved for so long. And once I've accepted it… this!" He stared at the letter and sighed. "It's so much to take in," he whispered in a broken voice. "Too much."

Cosette stroked his hand softly. "Will you go, dearest?"

"Yes. Of course I'll go. But… but I need you with me." He pressed her hand and smiled faintly.

When she had gone, Marius sat back in his chair again and sighed. Combeferre was alive and well. And he was getting married! How had he recovered so fast from the deaths of his friends? And Enjolras. The letter said that one man, the man who saved his life, had survived. Enjolras. But the letter also said that although he'd survived, he had left the barricade scarred. What had happened? Was that cold, passionate statue still the same? It was mentioned in the letter that a drunkard also survived. A _former_ drunkard. Did that mean that Grantaire was now a sober, ordinary man?

And Eponine. Eponine Thenardier, the only woman with courage enough to stand firm amongst the fighting men and brave out the storm. The girl who had stayed by his side ever since, who'd found his Cosette for him. His dear friend was alive.

And he would be seeing them in a few weeks.

Marius sat back in his chair, clenching his jaws and trying to deny the ache in his throat. He stared hard at the wall and refused to give in. But the barricades broke. With back bent and shaking with sobs, Marius Pontmercy wept like a child.


	29. Wedding Bells and Light

**Thanks for the reviews and I'm sorry for taking a while! I hope you enjoy this chapter! :D**

Chapter Twenty-Nine

At last the wedding day arrived. Everything was prepared. The guests began arriving.

Eponine Thenardier squirmed uneasily, her eyes wandering, her hand tightly grasping Enjolras' arm; and Monsieur Enjolras, handsome and stern, bent down and whispered a few words of comfort to his anxious companion. The little flower girl smiled at Gavroche; that little urchin scowled and looked away with disdain. The handsome groom fidgeted; Grantaire laughed.

All were waiting for something.

"Have you seen him?" whispered Enjolras calmly.

Eponine shook her head, agitated.

"Calm yourself. Everything is going to be fine," began Enjolras, but realizing that his tense companion would not—could not—be calmed, suggested quietly: "Why don't you go check on the bride?"

"She's fine," was the quick reply, "All pretty and shining like a bride should be—where is he!?"

Enjolras frowned. "Eponine," said he slowly, "Do you… are you eager to see him?"

Eponine stopped looking around suddenly and glanced up at him, at the handsome statue whose blind eyes saw her, whose powerful hand held hers with a gentle and constant patience. Those piercing eyes had struck down the courage of the most fearless soldier on the barricade, and yet now they looked down at her with a quiet protectiveness. That powerful hand had once held a dangerous weapon that could murder a man, and yet now it held her hand with infinite tenderness.

She looked at this man. What did she feel? Eponine Thenardier, for the first time in a long while, felt loved. She felt loved, and she also felt love—love for this man sitting beside her. She did not feel afraid anymore. She did not feel the need to hide from this beautiful, radiant light.

"No," she whispered. "I was frightened. But now you are here."

He smiled then. He could imagine her face, looking up at him with large, trusting eyes. He smiled.

And then the door opened and music filled his ears.

"Tell me what I see," said Enjolras.

Eponine laughed softly. She began: "Large, wooden doors are opening. The sunlight is pouring into the great room, filling it with a radiant, shining light. The bride in white is walking down the aisle, her hair lustrous under the shimmering sun. Combeferre, his face graced with a smile as radiant as the light, takes her hand and in the presence of the mayor and the priest, they take their vows. Etienne is smiling; Gavroche is laughing; Grantaire is sniffing furiously—" here Enjolras laughed—"And then with tears and a tender kiss, it is over."

"Not a bad description at all, Eponine," whispered Enjolras approvingly as the sound of clapping filled the room and he heard Grantaire and Etienne laughing at his side, "I can see it all too clearly."

Eponine laughed. "I've been reading."

What Eponine did not realize was that Enjolras saw the picture she had painted for him in a quite different manner. While she described the blushing Marguerite and the nervous Combeferre, he was thinking of a different groom and bride.

It was all tears and merry-making for a while as everyone made their way to congratulate the proud young man and his pretty bride. Eponine sat down, sighing happily, as she watched Marguerite from afar. The young bride was laughing softly, and though she addressed one of her mother's friends, her eyes never left Combeferre's face.

As she watched men and women gather round the newlyweds, Eponine wondered what Marius Pontmercy's wedding had been like.

Eponine saw a soft, quiet smile that never left Margot's face. Such a small faint smile, and yet, Eponine beheld such happiness, such glorious joy, in that one smile—and in those large, blue eyes that fixed themselves attentively on Combeferre's face, Eponine saw a passionate love, a gentle love, a faithful love. Had Cosette looked like this? Had Cosette smiled that little smile and looked upon her own husband with such love and devotion? Had she looked as beautiful as Marguerite looked now, a clear pristine light shimmering over her smiling eyes and that white hand, where now a little golden ring sat rejoicing?

Turning to Combeferre, Eponine saw that tender smile on his face, the same lighted joy. Had Marius held his bride with the same jealous eye, the same proud glance?

Were all newlyweds like this? Had Maman and Papa loved each other this way? Is this what love is, this pure love shining unhindered in the sight of God? She found herself asking these questions aloud, and the only companion seated close enough to hear was Enjolras himself.

Thinking she was addressing him, he answered quietly, almost in the same occupied thought as Eponine: "Perhaps not all men and women feel this way. The rich young noble does not always love his bride. But I suppose this is love."

"What is love, then?" asked the girl.

"In a sentence?"

"If you can manage it."

"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only son," murmured Enjolras. "I believe that is love in all its glory. Would Marguerite die for Combeferre? Would he do the same for her? They will grow in their companionship, they will learn from one another, they will love and be loved."

His mind wandered off in silence, and then Eponine said softly: "You were ready to lay your life down for the people. You were ready to sacrifice everything for their sake. That is love?"

Enjolras smiled as he heard these words, and the smile was like sunlight as he recognized the voice that said them. "Yes," said he, with almost the same delight as that of a child, "Yes, that is love."

Eponine looked up, still sighing happily. And then she saw a man, a young man dressed in black, approach Combeferre and embrace him. She could not see his face, and yet somehow she knew that he had black eyes, fine lips, a handsome face. Somehow she knew him to be Marius Pontmercy. This was confirmed by the little lady at his side, who held his arm and looked lovingly into his face.

Yes, this was Cosette, now Cosette Pontmercy.

"I am so glad! I am so glad!" Cosette was saying.

Marguerite smiled: "You are Madam Pontmercy?"

"Yes. And now you are Madam Combeferre."

Margot laughed. Combeferre, who had grasped Marius' hand, said joyfully, "Now our wedding is complete! Marius, will you come with us back to the house to celebrate?"

And then Marius' reply: "Yes of course! That would be wonderful. Just like before, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes, just like before! Come and greet Enjolras!"

Eponine grasped Enjolras' arm suddenly, and Enjolras, who had heard everything, patted her hand reassuringly. "Calm," he whispered.

And then the group of merry people interrupted them

"Enjolras!" cried Marius joyfully, "Aren't you glad to see me?"

Enjolras turned his face to the voice and, with a calm smile, replied: "You are still the same as every, Monsieur Pontmercy. I can _hear_ that, at least. Although, forgive me but my eyesight is not in its best condition."

At once Marius was apologetic: "Oh, beg your pardon! I suppose I… I forgot. But it is wonderful to see you alive and well!"

Enjolras smiled a small smile, grunted and turned to Eponine.

And then Marius saw Eponine.

"'Ponine!"

She started at the old nickname.

"Good grief!" he cried, and at once she was unsure of whether he was glad to see her or not, "You're alive! Of course you are! The only girl brave enough to stand with men at the barricade!"

He embraced her; Eponine remained like a statue.

"Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Of course," she mumbled, looking up and smiling.

"This is my wife, Cosette Pontmercy!" he said proudly. The young woman stepped forward with a gentle smile and a "How do you do?".

Eponine smiled again and nodded. With a few more exchanges, Marius turned to Combeferre, Cosette to Marguerite, and it was over.

Eponine sighed, and Enjolras, hearing it, pressed her hand again with a reassuring smile. They thought all the excitement was over—at last, Eponine was beginning to relax when suddenly, Enjolras started.

"What? Are you alright? Enjolras?" began Eponine, instantly tense and anxious again.

Enjolras blinked, silent.

"Enjolras?" said Eponine again, looking at him with large, worried eyes and raising her hand slowly to touch his forehead.

He blinked again, and then in a low, trembling voice, whispered: "Your eyes are brown."

"Of course!" replied Eponine, startled by his voice.

"Your eyes are brown," he said again, "I saw it."

Eponine blinked now, trying hard to understand. Then realization struck and taking his hands joyfully, let out a cry that sounded more like a hoarse whisper: "You can see!" She uttered the words with a choked voice, her eyes alight with hope.

He only said again in a soft voice: "Your eyes are brown. I can't believe I never noticed them before."

**Let me just say that the eyesight will come back slowly. :D And I'm sorry to say this, but this story is almost over. Almost, but not yet. I was thinking perhaps two more chapters. Whaddya think? :)**


	30. Old Men, Reflections, and Soup

**Thank you so much for the reviews! Hope you enjoy! **

Chapter Thirty

"Congratulations, Monsieur Enjolras. You are a very fortunate man." Doctor Beauvais sat back in his chair and put down his round spectacles.

Eponine looked at him anxiously, "Will his sight fully return, Monsieur?"

The old army doctor smiled gently, his clear blue eyes crinkling. "I believe so, little mam'selle. But we cannot know for sure. It would be best if you come every month, so I can see if he is improving."

Etienne patted Enjolras on the back and laughed: "Well, Enjolras, you are one lucky survivor!"

"Can you tell me again how the, ahem, accident happened?" asked the old doctor, looking at Etienne with a curious expression.

The young Guard stiffened. He had known this man for several years, almost since he was a child. The doctor was almost like his father. But now he hesitated. Could he trust this old veteran? Could he trust him with a man's life?

"Hit by a wooden board, Monsieur," said Eponine quickly. It was not a lie, and yet it was not the entire truth.

Enjolras grimaced slightly.

"Really, is that all?" pressed the doctor with a knowing look.

Eponine couldn't possibly find it in herself to deceive this man, with his friendly smile and old, crinkling eyes. "Well, Monsieur…" she stammered, "Really it was an accident…"

The doctor turned to Enjolras and said in a very low, grave voice that spoke each word with solemn emphasis: "You are an extremely fortunate young man, Monsieur Enjolras." He did not wait for the uncomfortable man's reply. "Very lucky to have survived the barricade with only a scar. Monsieur, it was a foolish notion! Foolish! To ask your country to lay down its life for the sake of its soul! Surely you must have known that the people would do no such thing! Rise to die? Heavens, no!"

Enjolras flushed a deep red. Etienne thought the cause to be embarrassment—Eponine of anger. The young rebel opened his mouth to answer, and it seemed as though a string of retorts was about to be released; but the old veteran continued without paying any attention to him:

"Surely you must have known that the people are too sensible for that—"

"Monsieur—" interrupted Enjolras heatedly.

"Surely you must have known that the—"

"Monsieur, that is enough!" cried Enjolras.

"—that the people are cowards," finished the doctor.

Enjolras stopped short. "Monsieur?" said he in a low, incredulous voice.

The doctor smiled sadly, saying in a soft, trembling voice (and suddenly he seemed to Enjolras so much older and so much wiser): "I'm afraid I too am a coward. I watched my old friend fall at the barricade. He was such a good, quiet fellow. His name was Mabeuf. Such a good brave man! I watched him die and I did nothing. He died the death of a brave man fighting for a good cause; I live the life of a coward fighting to live for the sake living. Monsieur, I admire you. And I wish I could have had the honor of standing with you at the barricade.

"I am a very old man. I have seen death, not just from war but from sickness, hopelessness, despair. I was a young man then, brave and dashing, just like you, Monsieur. Now I am old and as helpless as a child."

Enjolras listened to him. His straining eyes caught the light of the doctor's shining blue eyes. He thought he saw a tear.

Eponine listened too. She saw that Enjolras was too dazed to reply, and so in a very respectful, timid voice that was unlike her, she said:

"Monsieur, you are a very good man."

The old man sighed. "Well then," said he, shaking away his sorrow with another smile, "You young people should be going now. Best wishes for your sight, Monsieur!"

"Thank you, Monsieur," murmured Enjolras as Eponine guided him across the room and out the door.

…

Marius leaned eagerly forward, with a napkin on his lap and a ready spoon at hand, as little Madame Combeferre placed a steaming pot of soup for the _hors d'oeuvre_.

"I hope, Marius, that my wife's cooking is fine enough for you," began Combeferre proudly.

Marius bent down to taste the soup, coughed, cleared his throat, and with very red cheeks, replied hoarsely: "Hmm, yes. Suits me well enough, Monsieur. Madame, you are an excellent cook."

Marguerite stifled a giggle; Enjolras watched (or strained his eyes, more like) with amusement; and Combeferre looked up at her questioningly and then tried the soup himself. The result was the same as Marius'. He coughed, cleared his throat and choked out: "What is this, Margot?"

Marguerite giggled, her cheeks turning red, "I'm so very sorry, Monsieur. But, you see, I didn't cook the soup."

"What!" Combeferre looked at her, astonished.

Marius wiped a tear away (the soup's doing, without a doubt) and after drinking a glass of water, asked, "Who cooked it then, my dear Madame?"

Margot choked out, "Eponine!" and burst out laughing. Excusing herself, she escaped to the kitchen, where another fit of laughter erupted.

Combeferre cleared his throat. "Women, Monsieur," he laughed nervously. "I have no idea what got into them! So how are you, my dear, dear friend?"

Marius laughed: "I'm very well, thank you! I've started studying again. As soon as I have passed my exams, I'll be an independent lawyer." As he spoke, Margot entered, Cosette and Eponine arm-in-arm behind her. The three of them looked like the accused at a court trial! "Ah," Marius paused, "I suppose now we shall begin the dinner party? It looks like we're all here! Oh, where's Grantaire?"

"Ah, he'll be down in a moment," said Etienne, who had just appeared on the stairs.

"Well then!" said Combeferre. "Dig in!"

Marius did so obligingly and felt himself being lifted into blissful heaven. It felt like being with Cosette in that garden.

It was not really the food that did this, although Marguerite's cooking could have earned a sigh of approval from the King and a 'Bravo!' from the Queen. The cause of such bliss, such joy, was being in the company of those people he so loved and admired. He had spent many a night in the company of these fine and noble men; he had spent a heavenly evening in the garden with his beloved; at the barricade he held his place among these men and wore his beloved's handkerchief round his arm.

These were the people he so cherished, these were his two worlds, united. There was nothing more satisfying then sitting at this table, listening to the words of his friends, hearing his gentle wife speak with his dear, loyal friend… It was as if nothing had ever changed. That was why Marius felt surrounded by angels, not to mention the heavenly food.

One of the angels, the only one there worthy of such a title, was laughing softly as Eponine whispered something to him. Marius watched, dumbfounded. When had Enjolras ever smiled so warmly, so earnestly? When had those piercing, passionate eyes ever looked so soft and caring and gentle? His very laugh was startling. And Eponine, when had she looked so satisfied, so completely peaceful? For the first time he saw her, and what he saw filled him with a joyful wonder. He saw love that was completely content, a wonderful love in that confident, trusting gaze directed towards the smiling statue.

Even Combeferre was no longer the philosophic man he once was. He had not lost his wisdom. Indeed, he had not lost anything at all. Rather, he had gained something.

Grantaire was a perfect surprise as well. Much to Marius' astonishment, Grantaire was no longer the drunken skeptic who mocked the world and scorned meaning. Instead he was quiet, thoughtful, and gentle with everybody. When asked a question, he answered slowly, the question turning in his head as he thought carefully what to answer. He seldom spoke, yet he laughed and looked perfectly happy, and often he would be smiling as he watched Eponine and Enjolras, or Combeferre and Margot. He was happiest with Gavroche. This change was startling, and Marius almost told himself he missed the old, funny Grantaire; but then, Grantaire had been so sad then, so despairing. Now he was happy. And when he realized this, Marius never told himself that again.

As he observed all this, Marius also realized that nothing would ever be the same again. All his other good friends would not come alive through these different men, all special in their own way. The shy and wonderful poet would no longer write a love song. That friendly Courfeyrac would never tease or laugh again. Feuilly's fans were forever lost; Joly's unusual theories of health were history.

Marius sighed. He was sad and he was happy. Though he mourned, his heart was at rest. Deep down inside, he had always scorned himself, blamed himself, marked himself as a traitor who'd abandoned his friends when the National Guards closed in. Now one thing was for certain. Marius Pontmercy would not abandon his friends again.

He had just made this resolution when he heard Combeferre ask, a ghost of a smile on his lips, "Now, Eponine, it seems someone has put an excess of chili into our soup. Who, may I ask, is responsible for this?"

Cosette choked suddenly and began coughing, Margot quickly patting her back. The two of them glanced at Eponine nervously.

Eponine never skipped a beat as she replied calmly, "Oh, it was Enjolras' idea."

All turned to Enjolras, Combeferre with a triumphant 'A-ha!'. Enjolras kept sipping his soup, his face the innocence of a lamb.

**I regret to say, this is the end... No, actually, I'm just joking. *You stare at me solemnly.* Ah, well, I've never been good at jokes. There's one chapter after this. I will miss you lovely folks. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! :) **


	31. The Rose's Light

**I'm so sorry this chapter was long in coming. Thank you again for all your lovely reviews and I hope you enjoy this final chapter. I hope it doesn't disappoint. I know some parts (such as the storm) are rather 'unrealistic', but please bear with me. For the last time, "Hope you enjoy!" **

Chapter Thirty

Eponine sat dejected by the kitchen window. Outside, dark clouds rumbled and the heavens rained down with a vengeance. Such cruel weather, and on a summer day! The sun should be out and shining; the town should be bustling; the children should be out of doors, laughing and romping about.

They should be splashing themselves with buckets of icy cold, not to mention wonderfully refreshing, water from the well… instead, Someone above the grey clouds was laughing and pouring buckets of unmerciful rain that pounded the ground with fury.

Eponine looked up at the sky and cried: "Oh! Please stop it, will You? I know You love the world and You want to hose Your gardens, but can't You stop pouring Your water for an hour or two? Please just let me have a little sunshine!"

Laughter pealed on the stairway. Eponine turned to see Grantaire chuckling as he climbed down the stairs. "Don't be angry with Him, 'Ponine," he laughed, "The world needs some rain now and then."

"But not at the moment," grumbled Eponine, leaning her head on her hands and letting out a melancholy sigh.

"And besides," Grantaire added, "You might need some rain too."

Eponine scowled at the stormy weather. "Why would I need _that_?"

"Well," came the thoughtful reply, "you know, it usually happens that when the rain dies down the sun comes out of his hiding place and fills the world with light. We don't see anything special about that light when the sky's been sunny all day long. But when it's dark… that's the time when we want sunshine most, when we search for it."

"Yes, yes. So can't the rains die down already?"

Grantaire laughed softly. "Maybe it's waiting for something." He turned and made for the living room with a book tucked comfortably under his arm. "By the way, I think Enjolras is outside."

"What?" cried Eponine, aghast. "In _this_ weather?! That storm will be the death of him!"

Grantaire chuckled and muttered under his breath, "If you don't kill him first."

But Eponine was already running out the door. The moment she stepped outside, she was enveloped in the raging storm. The wind howled unmercifully. Eponine raised her hand to her forehead, her eyes squinting in the fog.

"Enjolras!" she cried. Her voice was lost in the wind. She tried again. "Enjolras!"

She took one step. And then another. Soon she was running breathlessly in the storm, soaked to the skin. She couldn't see where she was going, but she kept on running, calling his name and starting to wonder if perhaps Grantaire had decieved her. Why in the world would he do such a thing? Telling herself that Grantaire would never commit such a crime, she took another step, and then another.

She was lost. The mist was thickening; the sky darkened; the wind screamed. It was that moment when the heavens took one last deep breath, when the world braced itself and prepared for the last outburst.

The darkness was overwhelming; falling to her knees and thinking herself lost forever, she covered her face in her hands and hoped for the light to come.

…

"Margot, have you seen Eponine?"

"Sorry, no. Last I saw she was sitting in the kitchen." As Enjolras hurried down the stairs, Marguerite added, "Oh and watch out, Enjolras! She'd worked herself into a fiery mood when I left her."

Paying no attention to her warning, Enjolras clattered down the stairs, his hands feeling the railing as he went. He met Grantaire halfway down.

"Enjolras! Need any help getting down?"

"No thank you," replied Enjolras impatiently.

"How's the eyesight?"

"Fine."

"Improving?"

"Yes, yes—have you seen Eponine?"

"Oh!" Grantaire had been waiting for this question and, feigning indifference, answered his impatient companion with a calm: "I believe she's out for a walk."

"Out!" cried Enjolras. "In this storm? What in the world does the mad woman think she's doing? If she's killed herself, I'll… I'll—"

"Yes, you'll denounce the world with all the passion you can muster and then promise never to forgive her till she comes back while she'll be frolicking happily in heaven. And when she hears you calling angrily for her, she will, being frightfully terrified of your wrath, run down from the skies and hurry into your arms. Now _you_ hurry up, before she DOES die of cold!" With that Grantaire grabbed Enjolras by the hand, led him quickly and not at all carefully down the stairs, and pushed him out the door.

It was at that moment that Enjolras realized how foolish he had been. "GRANTAIRE!" he stormed, "Let me in! How in the world am I supposed to find Eponine if I can't see!"

"You can't see either way," came the reply behind the door, "It's dreadfully misty, you know."

"Let me in, you… you traitor! You'll have to help me find Eponine! She's out there… all alone! In this storm!"

There was no answer behind the door.

"Grantaire!"

No answer.

Enjolras turned, his back to the door, his chest heaving. No thoughts of his own safety passed his mind. He only thought of Grantaire betraying him, of Eponine blinded somewhere in the middle of this roaring storm, of his helplessness—his terrible inability to save her. He heard the wind screaming and felt cold water raining down furiously over him, trickling down his face and soaking his clothes. "Maybe Grantaire is right," he murmured to himself, "A man might as well be blind in this storm. But a blind man knows how to use his senses." Holding on to this piece of hope, Enjolras got down to his knees and felt his hands touch the hard pavement. Then, taking a deep breath, he crawled.

It is a strange thing to see Monsieur Enjolras crawl. Never, in the history of mankind, has any person lived to see Monsieur Enjolras crawl, except for his mother, who had probably forgotten the strange sight. (He had worn a long gown then and sucked his thumb and gurgled.) But to see the great, superior Enjolras crawling! If one of those 'flippant' young ladies looked out the window at that moment and saw her dreamy statue crawling, his hands searching desperately in the great storm and his helplessness more evident than ever—that lady would perhaps have thrown away every single fancy that she had conjured up in her mind about being Madame Enjolras.

Unless that young woman really loved him; unless she knew that the Great Enjolras was suffering from such 'humiliation' for _her. That _woman would only love him more than she already did.

Enjolras crawled. His breath came short and he shivered. The rain felt like ice. Suddenly the hard pavement under his palms turned into soft, wet grass. After the slippery, solid ground, the grass almost felt like velvet. He stood up and took a hesitant step forward. His eyes blinked and through his blurry vision he saw colors of grey and black. His eyes widened; he thought he saw something, the outline of a rock. He stumbled towards the large rock, hope building in his chest. When his hands fell upon it, expecting to find the roughness of a rock, they found instead what felt like wet hair.

His hope soared. Bending down, he lifted the 'rock' and embraced it, using his large frame as a shield against the howling winds and rain.

…

_Poor Enjolras. _Those were Eponine's thoughts as she dreamed. _Poor, poor Enjolras. I've failed him. _She could picture him in her mind, as helpless as a child in the raging storm. She shivered and wrapped her arms tightly around herself, squeezing her body into a ball. Hot tears fell down her cheek. _A storm cannot kill a person, _she thought. _You're being melodramatic, 'Ponine. But sickness can. Azelma almost died from it. And a falling tree… and a warm sunshine… _Her nightmares ceased. She fell into a dreamless sleep.

The first thing she heard was a lark singing. Its song was beautiful. Then she felt the sunshine warming her face, and a cool wind blow past her. And then she heard a voice.

"Eponine? 'Ponine?"

She opened her eyes to see Enjolras looking down at her with large concerned eyes. He held her in his arms. "You're safe!" she said in wonder.

His lips formed a tight smile. "Well, no thanks to Grantaire. I thought you were lost."

Eponine laughed feebly. "What? A storm kill me? Thenardiers are tougher than that, Enjolras!"

Enjolras smiled radiantly now as he saw life returning to her pale cheeks. "Let's just hope you don't catch anything, or Combeferre's going to have a lot of sleepless nights."

"I am so glad," she sighed happily.

"Why is that?" asked the other gently.

"You're alright, and the sun is shining."

Enjolras laughed quietly. "And I can see," he murmured. "All it took was a desperate chase in a blinding storm."

She looked straight into his eyes with wonder. "Then I am so glad He made it rain."

"Eponine?"

She cocked her head curiously as he said her name. His voice sounded tense, almost nervous. "What is it, Enjolras? Is something wrong?"

"No," he replied hesitantly.

"Lost for words? At last! A miracle!"

"If you were in my place, you'd take years and still never find the right words!" retorted Enjolras, shifting uneasily.

"The right words for what?"

"For confessing one's undying love."

Eponine snorted. "Of course you can't find the right words for that. Undying love is a completely absurd idea that people just made up to—" she stopped short and looked up at him, her eyes wide and her mouth gaping open like a fish out of water. "What did you say?" she whispered.

"I said that I'd never be able to find the right words for my undying love for Eponine Thenardier, because there are no words to describe my love, because even if I found such words I would be too arrogant to confess them to you, because—Eponine, are you alright?"

As she listened, Eponine had been growing paler and paler, and at last she had interrupted him by throwing her hands over her face. She hid from him as he bent forward anxiously. "Eponine?" said he, worry coating his words.

"Oh, of course I'm alright, you old fool!" cried Eponine, throwing her arms around him and hiding her face in his coat.

"Eponine, are you _crying_!?" Enjolras' lips had twisted into a ghost of a smile, and that little smile was filled with all the pride and joy of the world.

She withdrew her arms and looked up at him, her face scarlet.

"Well you don't look really pleased! This is the result of swallowing my pride and confessing my heart?" said Enjolras, imperiously. Really his heart felt weightless, like a feather.

"Really, truly your heart?"

"Really, truly my heart."

Again she hid her face in his coat, and again he scarcely dared to breathe as he felt her soft cheek brush against his. When Eponine opened her eyes, she realized that they were sitting on a bench, in none other than the garden of the Rue Plumet.

Enjolras had found his light. Eponine Thenardier had found hers.


End file.
